Disclaimer: I Don't own anything except maybe some random characters. Eh.
A/N: This is like, my first fic in this kind of category..never tried this kind before. Heck, i'm only twelve. And i am just...i dunno. Givin it a try. R & R...
Chapter 1: A Better Place
"Oh my Angel, everybody is special. Everybody is unique…"
"Which is another way of saying no one is."
Funerals, like the other events in our lives, serve a valuable function by providing a time and place for commemorating and acknowledging the life of a person who has died. Funerals confirm and reinforce the reality of the death, assist in the expression of grief and feelings of loss, begin the process of reintegrating the bereaved back into the community and convey our values and beliefs regarding the meaning of life and death.
But for young, Patricia Hunt, this was all…bullshit.
Bill, the new and well-trusted bodyguard of Miss Patricia Hunt sat anxiously behind the wheel of a dark blue Mercedes, he tapped at the wheel impatiently with an index finger as he peered at the rear view mirror every now and then.
"Turn Left. You know the rest." her passive voice cut through the air as he sighed with relief, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The light turned green and he turned left.
"Next time, read the map." the eight year old reminded him, putting on the no-nonsense tone that had always made them nervous.
"Yes ma'am." he continued to watch her at every possible chance he could get without having to collide with some car five seconds later.
She looked up from her book and glared gravely at the rear view mirror. Their eyes met and the body guard returned to watch the road. "Much better." And with that, her eyes darted back to the book.
Unusually, in the past five days since her mother's sudden death, Patricia had shown no sign of grief, she acted as if absolutely nothing had happened to affect her life. 'No use crying for spilt milk' was one of the sayings that would describe the situation. "It's alright Pita," Mr. Hunt said with sympathy a few minutes after his daughter had arrived to her mother's chosen barrio cemetery.
Patricia looked down the hole at her mother's coffin as dirt slowly covered it up, a sickened look spread across her face. She showed not a hint of sadness, her father put an arm around her shoulder, hugging her close. "She's dead." she said in a whisper.
'No, Pita. She's off to a better place now." Her father looked at her as she continued to stare at the earth. "I don't understand"
"She's gone to heaven honey, with God." Pita looked at him, her face pale and emotionless then she glanced up at the sky, watching a red-tailed hawk fly free. Lucky Bastard.