Hello, my fabulous readers!

Many, many thanks to those who are reading, and baring with me on this! It's my first attempt at a depressing beginning.

The flowers were pretty, though not as pretty as their natural sisters.

I studied them with a strange passion. They weren't real, that much was evident. They were an unnatural white color, and made from a cheap fabric. I quickly reeled in my thoughts. The woman holding the flowers was our next-door neighbor, an elderly lady named Maude. Her husband stood, silent and still, nearby. She was fanning her face in an exasperated way, as if she were very upset.

Yeah, well, me too.

I glanced down at my own bouquet of red roses. They were real. I'd picked them from Mom's little garden behind our house. I remembered waking up some mornings and hearing her cursing the frost, saying it would kill her "ruby flowers."

I didn't hear much of what was said, but I did know when it was my time to toss on the flowers. When I did, I bowed my head and took a deep, shaky breath so I could whisper to the casket, "I love you. Please don't forget me."

Then I returned to my place next to Samantha. She tossed on a daisy. Mom had told her that her favorite color was yellow, and so Sam got her yellow flowers.

Then there were the speeches. I listened as the pastor spoke of how my mother had touched everyone she'd met in the deepest and most profound ways. Then my mom's friend Gina gave a short speech and offered me her deepest condolances. Same for Mrs. Agatha. As she passed me, she patted me on the arm and whispered, "I'm rooting for you."

Then it was my turn.

I took a deep breath, and wasn't surprised when it caught in my throat. The mass of black moved aside so I could stand on the little temporary platform. I had this speech memorized well.

"My mother was one of the few people I've ever met to have actually had a kind heart." I paused, feeling tears searing the back of my throat. "I'm not saying we didn't disagree on things. Because we did. A lot." There were a few weak laughs from the audience.

"And I loved her more than anyone could even fathom. She was my best friend, and now she's gone. But I'm never going to remember her by . . . this. I'm going to remember her by the beautiful, insane, Italian, cursing mess that she was, and everything she ever did for everyone. I hope that's how you'll all remember her.

"Thank you." My voice broke on the last word, but I didn't care. I stepped off my soap box, let the tears spill over my cheeks, and let Samantha wrap her arm around my shoulders. I wanted to curl up in a ball and hibernate until whenever I stop hurting.

The next thing I remember is leaning on Sam and walking away from the cemetery. "What now?" she asked. I sighed, and couldn't stand the answer to that question. I knew that I'd be looking to the past for a while, and remembering and grieving, but at the moment, I knew the future could very well be . . . sucky.

"I don't know." And I didn't. It was up to the judge now. My custody papers were being looked over and modified as we spoke, but I had no idea what was going on. Mrs. Agatha, maybe? Or . . . no, my mother was an only child, and her parents had died before I was born. I didn't know who my father was. Mom had always vowed to tell me when I was eighteen. I guess we ran out of time on that one.

I hunched my back against the wind and slid into the back seat of Sam's parent's Camry. I'd been staying every night with Sam since Tuesday. She didn't mind, and Helen and Eric (Samantha's parents) insisted they didn't.

I felt like a burden anyway.

Eric got in the front seat, and cranked the car. I licked my lips and jerked my bag out from underneath me, pulling out my phone. I tapped the screen a few times, and put in my earbuds.

"Stay low,

Soft, dark, and dreamless

Far beneath my nightmares and loneliness.

I hate me for breathing without you."

Of course. God forbid there was a fucking happy song playing.

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun

But it's sinking,

Racing around to come up behind you again

The sun is the same in a relative way

But you're older, shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Breathe.

In, out, in, out, in, out.

Now, get up, you damn lazy bum, and finish your paperwork.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position at my desk, and rubbed my face. The spreadsheet I had opened was full of the letters g, b, h, n, and m, and I was one-hundred percent positive I had those keys imprinted on my forehead.

Also, it was a miracle I wasn't swimming in my own drool.

It was dark in my apartment, mostly because I'd fallen asleep before the sun slid behind the horizon. Outside my window, I could see the tall buildings of Little Rock jutting into the sky.

Speaking of which. I glanced around the scattered envelopes and research papers on my desktop and singled one out. My rent was due. Maybe I could get an extension...?

Probably not. I'd been late on last month's rent, and Natalie was kind of pissed because of the McDonald's Incident.

Oh well, just another day in the life of a twenty-year-old orphan.

Okay, I admit, this is a filler chapter. Sorry. Stuff has been crazy. Custody battle. 'Nuff said.

Anyway. How's life for you guys? I'm working on more, I know, I know. My bad, I abandoned you. Pwease forgive me? :3