SAMM Shekhawat
10/22/06
Funeral Weather
I woke up to a vivacious wind, which seemed ironic to the fact today was the day of a funeral. As I rose from my bed, swinging my feet over the edge of the bed, a large thump arose in the air. As I peered downward to the floor, my eyes fell toward a shining, black object. My hand danced across my neck, which found something amiss. My chain was missing . . .
On the sandy, wooden floor was my chain, a black golden, twenty-four karate necklace, which a black silver cross, with turquoise stones embedded in it. Somehow, it undid itself as I laid asleep on my bed, falling to the floor as I arose. Reaching down to receive it, I found a little yellow piece of parchment, something my mum would always right on. On it, was scribbled "Don't be late for the party, happening today . . ." That party was last week, but never took place in the end, and still I was late.
A sweet smell of lemon tea lingered in the air, the wind still dancing around the cold house. Melancholy dripped off the walls as I walked toward the kitchen, shadows forming monsters, dust growing like misery. Death was noted in the air, on this woeful, sorrowful, October mornin'. Chilly winds greeted me even in the kitchen, where the stove was lit, and two children sat with two cups of tea. The smell of lemon tea grew stronger to my nose as I poured myself a cup as well, and sat down on the rickety dining area. Travis and Trailia wore expressions that contained the deepest pain, both wearing suits of black, while I contrasted with them by wearing a long dress of grey. Their faces dripped of melancholy as rich as honey, dripping like mascara on a teary-eyed face.
It started to rain as we all ate pancakes of fluffy air with honey, something our mum and dad had bought over a month ago. How strange things are when your loved ones leave, you when something you didn't like will become the second thing to enter your mouth. The first was our mum's lemon tea, something only she would drink in the mornin'.
Drip, drip, drip, said the rain as it landed into the pans and pails settled on the floor. A good thing our father fixed the ceilings from leaking in the rest of the house, except for the kitchen though, which became a sort of disadvantage. The pans and pails that were full of rain screamed to be emptied of water, and instead to be in their rightful, warm spots. Our home was once a house full of gods and goddesses, and now is left with only three orphans, cold hallways, and a lot of leaky spots in this kitchen.