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Epitaph on a Damp Grave
Epitaph on a Damp Grave

Epitaph on a Damp Grave

TristanTristan
2 Reviews

It rained on that frightful day i gave my best friend's eulogy. I could recall perfectly how the whole ordeal went down. The dark clouds, the distinct drizzling of rain on umbrellas, the quiet sobs that filled the whole atmosphere, the trepidation that hung like a pungent around me, the dark day that matches with the dark suits. With one shivering hand on my umbrella, and the other holding my partially soaked eulogy with its red ink already drooling away, i stood behind the little crowd. Now to be sincere with you, i was scared shit-less, anxiety got the better brave part of me. I didn't know how I'd approach this broken folks. Deep inside of me, i wanted to run home, sit on my sofa, drink little coffee and grief myself to death.

But none of those happened, instead the rain slightly increased, the drumming on the umbrellas picked up a fast pace, making it hard too hard concentrate. I could feel all eyes on me, pale peering eyeballs on me. I started to hyperventilate, couldn't breathe normally. My breath came in short deep gasps. Somebody in the crowd must have noticed this, because somewhere in the pile of soaked depressed people, there was a disturbance, few murmurings, people adjusting their bodies and that sort of thing. Even though it wasn't sunny, i squinted under the influence of rain drops, trying to get the precise image or visual recognition of the person heading towards, my heart thudding faster than a drum.

Luckily for me , it was my girlfriend Cynthia. Damn she was alluring from afar, a black scarf tied perfectly on her head, matching her dark gown. Her slender waist swaying to and fro as she walked towards my direction, a reassuring smile on her drench face, which already soothed things a little. The moment she reached me, took one long look at my gruesome features and worried face, she could tell i was dead. I tried to smile, but couldn’t, instead i burst into tears, not minding if i embarrassed myself in front of her, or the little audience. I cried like a baby, wept uncontrollably. She pulled me into a tight hug, trying her very best to console me, but she just couldn’t. My whole body shook tremendously with sobs.

And for that brief moment, i silently thanked God for two thing. I thanked him for the rain which concealed and wipe my salty tears, and i thanked him for a girl like Cynthia. I would've been a terrible mess without her. From my periphery vision I could feel the whole crowd's pity on me like a mild breeze on my face.

Nobody knew Micheal like i did, we were the closest of friends, grew up on the same street, went to the same schools, did basically everything together. To save you the time you don't have, we were BROTHERS. Didn't matter if we came from different families, didn't matter if he was BLACK and i was WHITE, nothing stopped our friendship, it grew like wild fire, burning every obstacle with its thermal touch. Still couldn't believe he was gunned down in broad daylight, still couldn't believe the police didn't do anything about it.

I shook my head in disgust, and hoped his soul rest in perfect peace. After what felt like hours, my girl friend finally drew back from the warm hug, kissed me gently on the lips, and told me everything was a-okay. I smiled at her, i could feel my trepidation receding a little bit. She asked me if i was alright, her face glowing gray on the livid weather, which exposed she was concerned for my well-being. I nodded at her, as remnants of the rain drooled slowly from my forehead, and rested on my eyebrow. I told her i could handle it.

She smiled again, and walked to her seat. I look at the paper on my hand, it was faded, it was gone. The ink washed away. Normally i would have been in a state of frenzy, or even worse, anxiety attack. But i smiled, i knew i had to speak from my heart, not from some written paper. Micheal at least deserved a better eulogy. The rain has stopped now, the dark sky clearing up a little bit. I look at the crowd, and poured out my heart to them.

'. . . Micheal was a good. . . . . '

Author Notes: There's a strength in letting go!

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About The Author
Tristan
Tristan
About This Story
Audience
All
Posted
26 Mar, 2018
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736
Read Time
3 mins
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