I found another of my older stories. This was written at 13, I think. Either that or 12, but I still like it even if it's not "adult" writing :)
A slate grey sky loomed overhead as we walked into the sullen-looking building. I took one last glance at the silent streets and suddenly noticed that it was raining, water mercilessly pounding the concrete. It reminded me of a choir of angels crying out its bitter sorrow. I gripped my slickened coat about me and turned into the solemn building.
I was greeted by a room full of silent mourners, their faces gaunt and red from hours of sobbing. People were valiantly attempting to comfort one another when all they wanted to do was free their angry tears to fall down their pale cheeks. I stood there for a few moments staring at everyone, drowning in sorrow, lost in my own weary thoughts.
A few moments later, I found myself being ushered into a dimly lit white room filled to the brim with flowers of every imagineable color. Off to the right, a procession of black garbed people was inching forward to the front of the achingly dull room. A nudge from behind sent me toward the line, and it suddenly occured to me that I had no idea where I was. For some reason, I couldn't quite grasp why I had come to this sad place; this building of tears and sorrows. As I proceeded through the silent line, I tried to remember the occasion. Funeral, that was what it was, but I couldn't remember who was lying up ahead.
Lightning crashed and thunder rumbled, shaking the pictures on the walls as the pale lighting wavered. I approached the foot of a dark oak coffin that shone as if freshly polished, reflecting my own face back at me, taunting me. People around me were erupting into violent, shuddering sobs while I stared at my face on that wooden tomb. I reached out a trembling hand to touch it and watched silently as the fingerprints disappered. The lined inched forward again and it was my turn to pay my last respects.
I tore my gaze from the stark white walls and allowed my eyes to settle upon the face of person within the casket. My heart seemed to stop, my throat constricted, as recognition lanced through me. My uncle, his silky brown hair seeming almost black against the cream of the satin pillow. My small hand reached out to touch his closed eyes and trace fingertips across his waxen lips. I longed to see those laughing brown eyes but I reached up to touch my own. Only then did I realize that my cheeks were soaked with salty tears that burned as they ran streaming down my face. I bent down and placed a kiss on those cold lips and lay my head on his still chest.
"Goodbye," came out in a choked whisper as I turned from him. Before I walked to join the throng of mourners, I realized that I wished to be in that coffin with him.
Nice write. Wish someone like you, in her 12 now, writes on the Tsunami.
Thanks for sharing.
SG
Reviewed by Amira van Kerk
8/20/2004
It must have been a very bad and haunting experience for you, especially at that age, but it was good you brought that down to paper to work it up.
Very well written.
Hope to read more.
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