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One More Day

July 2, 2009

Flecks of dirt hit the casket.

Her father grabs some dirt from the pile, while her mother sobs; screaming and rocking; her body wracking. The priest finishes his piece. Her mother drops to her knees. The priest is speaking his part, his tone never wavering. The casket is lowered down, to where it will rest. The pallbearers carry the casket towards the grave site. A collection of her friends and family stand around the hole in the ground, silent and still. The Priest is already there, waiting. The hearse pulls up, and the doors swing open. Cars start pulling up, first the family car, then friends and extended family.

The Pallbearers load the casket into the hearse.

The ceremony has ended, and the crowd parts for her family to pass through. The Priest reminds everyone to celebrate the passing, not mourn the loss; his words fall on deaf ears. Her friends step down from the microphone, voices fading. Her friends talk about the good times, and how fantastic a friend she was. They start to cry as they talk, unashamed and unaware of just how strong their tears flow. Her friends talk about when they first met, when they had their first fight, all their silly promises, and when they went to the cottage that one time. Two girls are asked to the microphone, to talk about her.

Her fathers heart breaks a little more.

Kam

September 22, 2008

I was always a loser.

Seriously, I was. I got picked on at school for every possible reason: Mamas boy, nerd, totally out of style, ugly, etc. etc. The usual stuff, I know, but it hurt all the same. High school wasn’t any better. I never had a girlfriend. Hell, I barely had friends, and they weren’t exactly the socialites of the century either. Like minds stick together and all that I guess.

Breakdown

September 11, 2008

This is possibly a re-post from my old website. I don’t remember if I ever posted it.

Slap!

The sound seems to reverberate off of every surface, every facet, even off of the very brushes of the wind.

What did he do now? He stands rooted to the spot, twisting from the trunk of his being, recoiling from the pain and indignation that is pulses through him like the blow to his face that he now nurses. She screams at him, ferociously she tares yet another strip from him as she screeches far-flung accusations at him. He seems slightly confused; you can see it in his eyes.

Vindicate

September 1, 2008

This is possibly a re-post from my old website. I don’t remember if I ever posted it.

“Well. That didn’t go nearly as good as I had originally envisioned.” The prisoner stated, as we dragged him down the hallway. “Oh well. Can’t blame a guy for trying can ya?” Indeed we couldn’t. The man was to stand trial, and as usual, it will be a mere formality. Even the innocent are not safe from the Kings ‘justice’ anymore. Granted, this one was guilty, and we all knew, as we had caught him last night in a raid into some of the rebel hovels that are hidden, scattered amidst the city like festering wounds on an otherwise pristine body.

At least that’s what the king says. He seems to have gone a little off in recent days, should truth be told. No one will utter a word in even the most hushed tones of such happenings. The King has eyes, ears, and blades all around, and those who speak against him are either publicly executed, or simply cease to exist.