The rain flew down from the sky like little birds. That would soar and perch on the window glass. My eyes focused like a camera on the individual drops as they inched their way down, following gravity’s commands. The car radio interrupted my deep thoughts with music that brought my thinking into a deeper, boundless abyss. Through the thoughts, the little birds found a way to fly down my cheeks. How could someone be so cruel and cold-blooded? To follow the orders of someone who hasn’t experienced painful loss. They’ll kill someone for believing in something other than what they believe. I wiped the tears away and smudged them on my black mourning clothes. I hugged my father tight, close to my being so that no matter what, nothing else would
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“I’m sorry,” was all he said, before walking away he gave me a second to process what he had said. I didn’t know what he meant. Dr. O’ Brien accepted a stack of papers from a nurse nearby. He brought them over to me and spread them out on the foot of my bed. This caught my attention and I stood upright. I began to examine them with great interest. They were skull x-rays, each from a different angle. One thing they had in common was a solid block in the middle of the skull. “Audrey, these are your mother’s.” He pointed at the white block, “and that is a bullet. She was shot seconds before the car hit the tree.”
I wasn’t thinking, my posture melted and I laid back into the hospital bed. The palms of my hands pressed into my eyes, hard. The little birds returned and flew down my face. I wept into the cold white sheets. The pain was unbearable, one parent after another lost to a bullet. I dug my fingernails into my palms. My eyes and throat burned from holding back the tears. I didn’t say anything and the doctor realized I needed time alone. Life was a big meadow of flowers, and my parents were the beautiful ones that the gods had …show more content…
They kept me there so I could recover. There was no new information as to what had become of my mother. All I know is that there is a church burial and wake today. In no time, I was checked out and was brought to the St. Thomas church by a New York City taxi.
The church resembled a skyscraper. Although, compared to surrounding buildings, it came off small. The entire piece was crafted out of light grey limestone and resembled old gothic architecture. There were several religious symbols decorating the outside of the cathedral. The service was small, with only a few family friends. I didn’t recognize most of them. When the time came for people to tell stories and their memories with my mother, it was hard to keep my focus.
A frail gray haired woman was first. She was wearing a simple black dress that reached her knees. Her voice sounded like she's been smoking since she could walk and talk. "Mary was a great pal of mine," said the woman, she was picking at her nails nervously, "we would share the occasional coffee from that place down the road," she flicked her wrist in the café's direction. She went on and on about their fancy meetups and shopping trips. The woman ended with a "God bless you all," and wiped the excess makeup from under her
“I’m sorry,” was all he said, before walking away he gave me a second to process what he had said. I didn’t know what he meant. Dr. O’ Brien accepted a stack of papers from a nurse nearby. He brought them over to me and spread them out on the foot of my bed. This caught my attention and I stood upright. I began to examine them with great interest. They were skull x-rays, each from a different angle. One thing they had in common was a solid block in the middle of the skull. “Audrey, these are your mother’s.” He pointed at the white block, “and that is a bullet. She was shot seconds before the car hit the tree.”
I wasn’t thinking, my posture melted and I laid back into the hospital bed. The palms of my hands pressed into my eyes, hard. The little birds returned and flew down my face. I wept into the cold white sheets. The pain was unbearable, one parent after another lost to a bullet. I dug my fingernails into my palms. My eyes and throat burned from holding back the tears. I didn’t say anything and the doctor realized I needed time alone. Life was a big meadow of flowers, and my parents were the beautiful ones that the gods had …show more content…
They kept me there so I could recover. There was no new information as to what had become of my mother. All I know is that there is a church burial and wake today. In no time, I was checked out and was brought to the St. Thomas church by a New York City taxi.
The church resembled a skyscraper. Although, compared to surrounding buildings, it came off small. The entire piece was crafted out of light grey limestone and resembled old gothic architecture. There were several religious symbols decorating the outside of the cathedral. The service was small, with only a few family friends. I didn’t recognize most of them. When the time came for people to tell stories and their memories with my mother, it was hard to keep my focus.
A frail gray haired woman was first. She was wearing a simple black dress that reached her knees. Her voice sounded like she's been smoking since she could walk and talk. "Mary was a great pal of mine," said the woman, she was picking at her nails nervously, "we would share the occasional coffee from that place down the road," she flicked her wrist in the café's direction. She went on and on about their fancy meetups and shopping trips. The woman ended with a "God bless you all," and wiped the excess makeup from under her