A Husband's Funeral

by Jessie Vane

It was cruel how blue the sky was. As the wind passed from creature to creature it seemed as if nature itself was singing and dancing, vibrating and twirling from the energy in the air. An abrupt crunching of leaves under heavy tires signaled the birds to stop their chirping, told the insects to pause their songs, forced the guests to look the other way. Her shell stumbled out of the car, cold glasses masking her lifeless eyes, the black of her dress staining the warmth of the world. She moved with great pain, every step a journey she had never agreed to take. Her soft skin cried against the sun, highlighting her frail features and drained body. Once familiar hands, vibrant with youth and joy, now replaced by hollowed impersonators. Sickening memories coiled around her feeble legs and tugged her to the barking crowd, a prisoner to the gallows. A tickle of sweat swam down my neck. I could feel the sky regretting its beauty, the sun embarrassed by its light. The air held its breath as she made her way to the front of the room. I had never seen her cry before. As the organ played she sat, her body a stone statue chipping away until she was nothing but dust.