Cold. It should have been cold. It should have poured down rain like the sky was falling. There should have been lightning and screaming thunder, the world should have shrieked with the weight of my pain. But it didn't rain. It was sunny and warm. Birds chirped joyfully, mockingly all around me.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that he left me. How could he? How dare he? I needed him, I needed him so bad.
I needed my Dad.
Oh, Hell, I was fifteen. I was fifteen, and all of a sudden I was alone with my grief-stricken mom and my brother. No, not my brother. My brother locked himself away, he buried himself with that black coffin, and I haven't seem him smile again.
It wasn't fair.
How dare he leave me!
How dare my dad dieā¦
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair of him to take my brother and leave when I was little, it wasn't fair of him to live on the other side of the city. It wasn't fair of him to forget me.
A boy needs his father.
It wasn't fair of him to lie there, cold and covered in make-up while so many people cried.
Make-up to hide the gash in his forehead.
Make-up to hide the gash that bled and bled while he was stuck in that crumpled heap of a car. The gash that bled and bled until there was no more blood to bleed.
Make-up a funeral director had wiped on his face.
It wasn't fair of all those people to get up and talk about how great he was, how much they loved him, how he was always there for them, always there.
Always there for them.
For them.
It wasn't fair that all those people could get up and talk about what they used to do with him, how much fun he was.
He was my dad.
Why didn't I have any memories like all of them had?
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair of my brother to sit there next to me with a stone face and not say a word. He had lived with him, he should have gotten up and talked. He should have cried, he should have told me that dad was in a better place.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair of my mom to stand up there and say that he was a wonderful man and she missed him. He hadn't up and divorced her, she had told him to leave.
It wasn't fair of all those people to pat my shoulder and say they knew how I felt.
They don't know the half of it.
It wasn't fair of my brother to just walk away in the middle of the damned funeral and then sit there and play his guitar when we got home as if nothing was wrong. As if he was just at our house 'cause he felt like it.
As if Dad wasn't dead.
It wasn't fair of that stupid priest to close the black coffin. It wasn't fair of all those stupid people to throw flowers and wave my dad good-bye.
It wasn't fair of them to bury him.
It wasn't fair of him to just lie there with his eyes sewed closed and let them bury him alive.
No, not alive.
Bury his corpse.
It wasn't fair of my brother not to cry. How dare he not cry when his father died?
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair.
