The Funeral

Reads: 238  | Likes: 4  | Shelves: 4  | Comments: 1

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Abandoned

It isn't always sorrow and grief that you feel at a funeral.

Long blond hair spread upon the satin pillow, soft white flawless skin, ruby red lips, you are so lovely laying there. I have the urge almost uncontrollable need to bend down and kiss your dead lifeless mouth 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.


I make for the door my anger almost out of control, my fists clenched in my pockets. I burst out into the cold air, sucking it into my lungs as I try to stay calm. I had tried to help you so much, I had loved you so much, but in the end, 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 that 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 time and again. I squat down beside a car hiding as I slowly 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.


Submitted: February 04, 2021

© Copyright 2022 Gypsy Rose. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:


Vance Currie

Not a nice story, Gypsy, but well written with lots of passion.

Thu, February 4th, 2021 8:13pm


Death is natural, but some deaths aren't if you get my meaning. A death even a natural one can make some people angry and that anger has to be released, but you have to direct it towards the right target.

Sat, February 6th, 2021 4:02am

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