It was a cold November day, and rain was pouring down from the sky in sheets. A young man, who looked not a day over twenty-five, stood at the top of a hill, which overlooked the local funeral home and cemetery. He was dressed in a navy blue long-sleeved, button-down shirt; paired with dark wash jeans and a pair of loafers. He was soaked to the bone, and his blonde hair clung to his face, dripping rivers of water into his light blue eyes. He impatiently pushed his bangs out of his face (to no avail), and sighed as he watched a coffin being lowered into the ground. It was surrounded by people dressed in black and equipped with umbrellas, looking about the size of his thumb at the height he was at.
"Rest in peace, Fai." He murmured to himself before turning and walking back down the hill, his shoes making a sucking sound in the mud with every step. He hailed a taxi, climbing into the back and paying no attention as the cabbie winced at the dripping water now covering his patent leather seats. "Clover Place, please." The blonde main said, casually tossing a fifty up front. "And step on it. I'm expecting visitors." The cabbie snatched up the bill, the wet leather seemingly forgotten.
"You got it, man!" he said excitedly, the cab setting off with a violent lurch. The blonde in the backseat stared out the window wistfully. What kind of world do we live in when you can't attend your own brother's funeral? He asked himself. He shrugged. He'd put some flowers on the grave later. If there was a later.