The funeral was a quiet, sombre affair.
A strong, icy wind ripped through the forlorn skeletal trees, huge grey gulls wailed from on top of the archaic little church. Huge marble gravestones towered up to watch the grim performance, whilst the inferior, chipped headstones crumpled to the ground. A troupe of vermilion petals waltzed gracefully across the bare, depressed grass, the only colour in the dismal ashy world.
The turn-out was small, just a few of her colleagues, including Dan, and me. No family. Her mother had begged to come, but I had adamantly refused. People soon gave up trying to persuade me otherwise. As the louring clouds began to let go of heavy sheets of rain, I felt hot tears of my own stream down my face, carrying with them a lifetime of regret built up over the last few months.
There was a strong, musty smell - the hard, cracked earth began to soften as the unforgiving rain pounded down triumphantly. The blades of grass sighed as they thirstily lapped up the invigorating water. Being turned brown by the sticky mud, the beautiful dancing petals were ripped apart before my eyes, lying trampled on the ground.
The vicar began to drone in a dull, monotonous voice, and it was clear for all to see that his heart wasn’t in it. To him it was just a job, just another way to put money on the table to feed his family. It didn’t matter that he was talking about a dead person, about someone who had suffered so much, about a person so few really cared about. It was just his job.
Dan smiled sadly. “It’s okay, she’s safe now.” He whispered in my ear, his low voice soft and kind. “Trust me.”
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