This is a very short glimpse into Daria's funeral. A quiet observation.
No character names are mentioned. If you have trouble understanding who's who,
let me know, and I'll clear it up for you.
Also my experience of funerals is limited by the fact that I've never been to one.
If you must correct me on the way I've handled the funeral, please do so, however,
I ask that you please not go through this with a fine tooth comb and miss the point of the story.
**Obvious disclaimers here... Daria and all characters within belong to mtv.
At The End
by SilentWitness
Her casket was black. Not a cheap, plastic-looking black, nor a smooth, modern-esk,
streamline style black. It was a richly lined wood, stained black. The inside of the casket
was lined with grey padding, much reminiscent of the walls of her former room. The lining
was pure silk, not satin.
In Death, her family had spared no expense.
The girl inside was very pretty. She wore a small white rose in her hair, and her body was
ensconced in a shimmering pink satin gown, and high heeled dancing shoes. The green jacket,
orange shirt, black skirt and boots which had, in life, been as much a part of her as her moralistic, strong willed personality, were nowhere to be seen, buried away from sight as much as their mistress soon would be. Her trademark glasses were gone now, too, and her face was powerfully enhanced by a good deal of makeup, donated by her only sister. She would also be buried with many peices of expensive jewelry. On her wrist, she wore a diamond tennis bracelet; around her neck hung an antique gold locket with pictures of her family inside; four of her fingers had tiny bands of gold and silver and jewels wrapped around them; she even wore a multicolored flower anklet just above her shoe. Her family had given her their best, and outfit fit for a princess. An outfit that her mother and her sister both would have worn happily, but the one who wore it would have refused...strongly.
In Death, she wore what she never would in life.
Her whole family was there, everyone still alive on both sides. Her Mother, Father and Sister sat up front in the first row. The rest of her family, grandmothers, aunts and cousins, sat behind them. The family was just exactly as it had always been, power plays, rivalries and fake admiration all intact, funeral or no funeral. They admired the ceremony, the casket, her touched up photos which hung around the room, the yellow and pink roses which adorned much of the room and of course, how beautiful she looked in the casket.
In Death, there was no change.
There was a small section for non-family members. Not many came. Some of her teachers came from school, and the principal. They came because to not attend the funeral of a student in the academic level she was in would be a certain disgrace to the community, and more importantly the school. A few classmates of hers came, but they mainly came to see that she was really dead. Not that they held any real malice for her, but the thought of someone like her, their age, whom most of them had talked to or seen once or twice, the idea fascinated them, and so they came.
In Death, she would be noticed by her school.
There was an even smaller section for her friends. They weren't many, less than a row, but the chairs that were filled contained her true friends. The rare kind of friends that were honest and loyal. The ones who were closer to her than any other person had ever been. The ones who accepted her completely for who she was, the whole package, and never forced her to change. The only ones she accepted completely in return. These were the people that had provided her with a brief respite from the brutality of everyday life.
In Death, as in life, these ones were there for her.
The ceremony began. Despite custom, or perhaps because of it, family and friends spoke their thoughts first. When the minister asked if anyone had a few words to say, the family gave new meaning to the term "few". Each person seemed to have something to say. She was humble, she was loyal, she was loving, she was popular... half of them couldn't even get her name right. The teachers spoke of her outstanding grades, and enthusiasm in class, and her principal spoke of the honor she'd "brought" to the school. It was clear these speeches had all been rehearsed, especially one teacher forgot what he was saying in the middle of speaking and stood for
five minutes sputtering around trying to remember, before bursting into tears and running from the podium.
In Death, she was to each person whatever they'd wanted her to be in life.
Her friends, through each of these speeches, became increasingly irritated. They recognized the duplicity of her family and the hypocrisy of the teachers and classmates. Had truly no one taken the time to watch her, to listen to her? Every person there seemed to be twisting her to their own warped perceptions. By the time their turns came around, they were fairly seething with the injustice of it all. They said as much when they spoke, and commented on the person she really was. No one else seemed to care, in fact they were almost all angry that these
people- who were not even part of the family- would say such things about a dead girl. In their eyes, the truth was an insult. Finally fed up with the hypocrisy of it all, her friends left. They had nothing else to say.
In Death, her true friends had proven their loyalty.
Finally it was time for the formal eulogy. The immediate family had written it themselves. It was typed neatly on a crisp page of legal stationary, compliments of her mother. Underneath, it was carefully signed by the three remaining members, mother, father and sister. It was folded three times and enclosed in a translucent black envelope, sealed with a small dot of candle wax. This was ceremoniously handed to the minister.
The minister, used to ceremony, slowly broke the seal on the envelope, and took out the letter. Unfolding it, he took a quick glance at it before reading aloud as was his custom. He blinked, then silently read it again. Unlike many eulogies he'd read before, this one was quite short, only four little words.
Jaded as he was, as he read the words aloud, the minister felt tears collecting in the corners of his eyes.
"We never knew her."
No character names are mentioned. If you have trouble understanding who's who,
let me know, and I'll clear it up for you.
Also my experience of funerals is limited by the fact that I've never been to one.
If you must correct me on the way I've handled the funeral, please do so, however,
I ask that you please not go through this with a fine tooth comb and miss the point of the story.
**Obvious disclaimers here... Daria and all characters within belong to mtv.
At The End
by SilentWitness
Her casket was black. Not a cheap, plastic-looking black, nor a smooth, modern-esk,
streamline style black. It was a richly lined wood, stained black. The inside of the casket
was lined with grey padding, much reminiscent of the walls of her former room. The lining
was pure silk, not satin.
In Death, her family had spared no expense.
The girl inside was very pretty. She wore a small white rose in her hair, and her body was
ensconced in a shimmering pink satin gown, and high heeled dancing shoes. The green jacket,
orange shirt, black skirt and boots which had, in life, been as much a part of her as her moralistic, strong willed personality, were nowhere to be seen, buried away from sight as much as their mistress soon would be. Her trademark glasses were gone now, too, and her face was powerfully enhanced by a good deal of makeup, donated by her only sister. She would also be buried with many peices of expensive jewelry. On her wrist, she wore a diamond tennis bracelet; around her neck hung an antique gold locket with pictures of her family inside; four of her fingers had tiny bands of gold and silver and jewels wrapped around them; she even wore a multicolored flower anklet just above her shoe. Her family had given her their best, and outfit fit for a princess. An outfit that her mother and her sister both would have worn happily, but the one who wore it would have refused...strongly.
In Death, she wore what she never would in life.
Her whole family was there, everyone still alive on both sides. Her Mother, Father and Sister sat up front in the first row. The rest of her family, grandmothers, aunts and cousins, sat behind them. The family was just exactly as it had always been, power plays, rivalries and fake admiration all intact, funeral or no funeral. They admired the ceremony, the casket, her touched up photos which hung around the room, the yellow and pink roses which adorned much of the room and of course, how beautiful she looked in the casket.
In Death, there was no change.
There was a small section for non-family members. Not many came. Some of her teachers came from school, and the principal. They came because to not attend the funeral of a student in the academic level she was in would be a certain disgrace to the community, and more importantly the school. A few classmates of hers came, but they mainly came to see that she was really dead. Not that they held any real malice for her, but the thought of someone like her, their age, whom most of them had talked to or seen once or twice, the idea fascinated them, and so they came.
In Death, she would be noticed by her school.
There was an even smaller section for her friends. They weren't many, less than a row, but the chairs that were filled contained her true friends. The rare kind of friends that were honest and loyal. The ones who were closer to her than any other person had ever been. The ones who accepted her completely for who she was, the whole package, and never forced her to change. The only ones she accepted completely in return. These were the people that had provided her with a brief respite from the brutality of everyday life.
In Death, as in life, these ones were there for her.
The ceremony began. Despite custom, or perhaps because of it, family and friends spoke their thoughts first. When the minister asked if anyone had a few words to say, the family gave new meaning to the term "few". Each person seemed to have something to say. She was humble, she was loyal, she was loving, she was popular... half of them couldn't even get her name right. The teachers spoke of her outstanding grades, and enthusiasm in class, and her principal spoke of the honor she'd "brought" to the school. It was clear these speeches had all been rehearsed, especially one teacher forgot what he was saying in the middle of speaking and stood for
five minutes sputtering around trying to remember, before bursting into tears and running from the podium.
In Death, she was to each person whatever they'd wanted her to be in life.
Her friends, through each of these speeches, became increasingly irritated. They recognized the duplicity of her family and the hypocrisy of the teachers and classmates. Had truly no one taken the time to watch her, to listen to her? Every person there seemed to be twisting her to their own warped perceptions. By the time their turns came around, they were fairly seething with the injustice of it all. They said as much when they spoke, and commented on the person she really was. No one else seemed to care, in fact they were almost all angry that these
people- who were not even part of the family- would say such things about a dead girl. In their eyes, the truth was an insult. Finally fed up with the hypocrisy of it all, her friends left. They had nothing else to say.
In Death, her true friends had proven their loyalty.
Finally it was time for the formal eulogy. The immediate family had written it themselves. It was typed neatly on a crisp page of legal stationary, compliments of her mother. Underneath, it was carefully signed by the three remaining members, mother, father and sister. It was folded three times and enclosed in a translucent black envelope, sealed with a small dot of candle wax. This was ceremoniously handed to the minister.
The minister, used to ceremony, slowly broke the seal on the envelope, and took out the letter. Unfolding it, he took a quick glance at it before reading aloud as was his custom. He blinked, then silently read it again. Unlike many eulogies he'd read before, this one was quite short, only four little words.
Jaded as he was, as he read the words aloud, the minister felt tears collecting in the corners of his eyes.
"We never knew her."