Tragedy
High above the heavens were dark gray. It seemed fitting on a day such as this, reflecting the grim and solemn mood. Heavy clouds spread across the vast sky, thick and continuous droplets of icy cold rain pouring down with the occasional streaks of bright electricity illuminating the dreary atmosphere.
The flowers were the only bursts of color among the graveyard. They were arranged in a tasteful display around the surrounding mausoleums and gravesite. They did little to make the day seem less dreary, but people seemed to take comfort in the attempt at least. Flowers were not for the dead, after all, but for the living.
Mourners gathered around the shiny mahogany casket, each dressed in suitably dark clothing. Family and close friends all joined together to lament their loss. Many of their faces were twisted with grief, the downpour disguising the plump tears rolling down their cheeks.
It was a grave occasion and none remained unaffected from the death of such a great person. Unfortunately not everyone preset at this somber occasion was welcome. Some people were either photographers or news reporters here to cover the story. The press stood just beyond the police blockade, swarming to catch a glimpse of the devastated family.
Beacon Hills had one of the lowest crime ratings in the state; vehicular manslaughter was almost unheard of. The man responsible had been in an intoxicated stupor when he drove his car through the park, injuring many during his drunken joyride. He collided with a tree just after running down a family of three.
Only two of the family survived.
The young boy standing near the pastor had nearly died himself that day. His amber brown eyes never once looked away from the shiny mahogany casket in front of him. He wore a simple black suit that looked a bit baggy on his thin frame and clutched a small star shaped object to his stomach with all of his might.
Many people looked as if they wished to approach him, perhaps to pay their respects and offer condolences. None were willing to entice another episode though. Rumors of his numerous panic attacks since the incident traveled like wildfire throughout the small town. His sorrow was understandable though; to have lost a parent so young was such a terrible tragedy.
Calienim Stilinski was normally such a joyful, exuberant child. He usually spoke a mile of minute, bouncing from one topic to the next. Hyperactive was too mild a word to describe his typical enthusiasm for life. It hurt those who knew him to see him so still, silent and grieving.
Just as the pastor began the service, a beautiful young woman came to stand near the soundless child. Her hair was long and dark and she had stunning honey brown eyes. Twin streaks of tears followed the curve of her cheeks as she wept mutely. She dabbed at her face with a crumpled tissue, bright diamonds glinting in the flash of a camera from her left hand. She gave the boy a watery smile when he slid his small arms around her waist.
Mother and son watched the funeral together.