The Funeral

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Attending a funeral and the emotions that surface

Submitted: February 26, 2018

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Submitted: February 26, 2018



Long blond hair spread upon the satin pillow, soft white flawless skin, ruby red lips, you are so beautiful laying there.  I have the urge almost uncontrollable need to bend down and kiss your lifeless lips one last time.  I push it down and move away.


Your parents sit there with grief written all over their faces, but they are the ones that had thrown you away like a piece of damaged goods.  Putting you on the street and sending you into my arms.  Your mother looks up at me and gives me a weak smile as tears run down her cheeks and I smile back hiding my hatred behind a mask.


I move across the room not sure where I am going just away from them people.  I hear the whispers, the other guest talk, heads together in fear of being overheard.  They talk of you and your problem, how you had seemed to beat it only to succumb to it.  They look at me and I see them wondering if I was at fault.


Moving towards the door my anger almost out of control, my fists clenched in my pockets.Bursting out into the cold air, I suck it into my lungs trying to stay calm.  I had tried to help you so much, I had loved you so much, but it wasn’t enough.  The call of the needle was too great.


I pull a smoke out and light it.  Sucking the smoking in and burning my throat and lungs, I try to find the calm inside of me.  Your father comes out and pats me on the back, calling me son.  He tells me he understands.  He tells me not to blame myself that there wasn’t anything I could do and my anger builds.  I shake with the rage I feel as I pull away and stalk off into the parking lot.  Part of me prays he doesn’t follow and part of me hopes he does.


They didn’t put that needle in your vein, but they drove you to it repeatedly.  I squat down beside a car hiding as I slowed breathe wanting this anger gone before I snap.  I hear footsteps and I see him coming over, your friend, your dealer.  You never told me, but I knew he gave you the drugs, slipping them to you with that smile of his.


I stood up dropping my smoke and my anger boiling over as I reach out and punched him in the face.  Blood sprayed everywhere as he fell.  I jumped on him growling like an animal.  All I saw was red as I punched him again and again.


I came to in the holding cell my hands throbbing from the pain.

© Copyright 2018 Ian D. Mooby. All rights reserved.

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