Jake
Friday morning. Dad's funeral. It started at twelve and I was still in bed. I didn't want to go and the first person who decided to wake me up would hear about how much I don't want to go. In my mind I replayed the last moments of consciousness in the destroyed car with my dad. This had become a regular thing for me before I go to sleep at night and after I wake up in the morning. It never lessened the pain, only strengthened it. But I couldn't stop the images coming.
I heard my mum enter my bedroom and turn on the light. I dug my face further into my pillow. I felt my bed lower slightly as her weight was added to it.
"Jake," she said slowly. "You need to get up. We need to be out of here in three hours."
I didn't answer, just dug my head deeper into my pillow.
"Jake, I won't tolerate this," she said sterner. "Get up."
"I'm not going to the funeral," I said sharply.
"He's your father," she snapped. "You're going."
She got up and walked towards the door.
"I don't want to go," I repeated firmly sitting up in bed. "Funerals mean nothing to me. All a funeral is about is some guy standing up in front of everyone saying stuff about dad. Talking about how great he was when he didn't even know him."
My mum gave me a cold stare. "You don't want to go?" she challenged. "Then I won't make you. Just don't come running to me when you realise you've made a mistake."
"Don't worry I won't," I snapped as she exited and I flopped back on the bed.
Author's Note Jake is OOC!