Chapter One
-Present time-Here I am in a church, while people are staring at my dead father. The silent whispers of friends and family echo off of the warm walls. My mother and I sit in the very back of the church, strange, I know. But she couldn’t handle being so close to his dead corpse for too long of a time. Mom plays sorrowfully with her fingers as she stares at the cold, thinly carpeted floors.
My long, brown hair is smoothly rolled into a bun at the back of my head. A few stringy strands fall in my face, but I leave them.
Breathe.
I am dressed like my mother. We both wear plain, black dresses, but hers is accented with a pearl necklace, and a black, veiled hat.
Just breathe.
I can remember looking in the mirror this morning and seeing my sallow face, but not caring. I wear no makeup. Just my skin.
Inhale. Exhale.
Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. It seems as though the organist has been playing the same melancholy tune for hours.
Finally, the song ends and I can again move. I lift my head to the front of the church where the pastor stands behind the coffin reading from an open bible in his hands. I hear him say the words; “Please rise”, but I don’t. Everyone stands up around me, but I stay.
For a small moment, light appears through the stained glass windows, but it is just as quickly taken away.
Only he knows why he's dead. Or, maybe he doesn't. Somebody knows though. It sure as hell isn't me. The police are convinced that it was a murder case, or suicide. Me? I think it was all just an accident. Who would want to kill my dad? He was the nicest, most humble man I will ever know. He walked with his head up high, but he did not think of himself better than others. I was blessed to have such a dad. I can remember how he smelled. His scent was that of leather and fresh paper. You see, he was a lawyer. A very good lawyer at that! He used to come home and tell me of all his cases. I loved to hear him talk about those things he did at work. Who would want such a man dead?What I find even harder to believe, is the option of a suicide. My father, commit suicide!? He loved his life! The last thing he would have wanted was to die. Couldn't everyone just admit that it was an accident? It was a mistake! But no, everything has to be all dramatic and such. It annoys me so. They all know what happened. Some things can just be bad luck, and that is all. There is nothing at all mysterious about a man fixing the roof of his house, falling to the ground, and breaking his neck. Nothing strange about that at all. Happens all the time!It was our turn to view the body. I am scared. I have not yet seen his face. Will he even look the same? Will he appear as my father? Part of me wishes that he won't. Who wants to look into the face of their dead father? Certainly not me.I follow my mother towards the front of the church. She looks so pale. She looks so sad. My mother is a strong woman. But she can be a little, to say the least, ditsy. Her and my father made a fair amount of money. My mom works as a fashion designer for celebrities. She's pretty good at her job. Also, my mom is very beautiful. Her long auburn hair is what I envy most about her. But, being a brunette is alright, too. Her bright green eyes are almost identical to mine. I wonder why she isn't crying. I suppose it is because she doesn't want to appear weak. I know that she misses her husband. You can see it in her face. It is different to see her looking so depressed. She is usually her normal bubbly, happy, smiling self. Not today. She seems too serious. It breaks my heart.As we get closer to the casket, I quickly try to make up my mind whether to look or not. Do I really want my eyes to see? There it is, only a few feet in front of me. I don't move, so that Mom can go before me. It's strange. She's twitching, what seems like, uncontrollably.
She gets ready to peer into the wooden box of death. She appears contemplative. Right before she will be able to see the lifeless figure, her eyes close! She did not look! Why didn't she look? She just faked the entire thing! That was her husband! Why did she not take the chance to see him one last time?I had made up my mind. I would not be as disrespectful as my mother had been. Deeply, I inhale. He has cuts all over his face. His skin is so pale. I can feel tears welting in my eyes.
Don't cry!
I blink the tears away. If I let one loose, then they would all just pour out.
No. Wait until you get home.
I can feel my stomach start to turn. Why did I look? Now I'll only be drenched in tears, with puke all over me.
I can do this. I really can.
Part of me believes that I'll go home, and he'll be there. This is all only a dream. Nothings real. I breath in once again, through my nose. He doesn't smell like my father. He smells like Windex and dried flowers.I now realize that I've been standing here for about five minutes. I can't turn away. I try so hard. It's like, staring at something so horrible, that you can't look away because you believe that there is a chance it may turn beautiful once again. Maybe if I close my eyes, when I open them, I will wake up from this nightmare. Well, it's worth a try, isn't it? So, I close my eyes tightly.
Okay, here we go...

Hello again Dearest Reader.Death. Death is tragic, and death is beautiful at the same time. Death is complex. Life is complex. Life and death are both equally complex. Have you ever thought about how much time went into the idea of life? Well, a lot of time went into it indeed. I have always wondered; how can something so time consumed as life be so very fragile? Have you ever pondered that same thought? I have had many sleepless sleeps all because of the curiosity I have discovered I have for life. Life and death. They are completely different, aren't they? They are each others total opposite. But how can two things, so different, have such a find line dividing them. It's strange, isn't it?Death is hard to be accepted. It is hard to accept by either the person that is dieing, or dead, or by the person whom loves the dieing, or dead. It may all seem like a nightmare, that you desperately desire to wake up from.


Slowly, I open my eyes. Once again, I stare down at my breathless father. I can feel the tears gliding down my cheeks. Their pace starts to quicken. I feel suddenly sick to my stomach. There is no way of hiding my sorrow any longer.Sobbing, I race out of the room. I can hear the short, fast footsteps of my mother behind me. I really wish she wouldn't follow me. She'd just say that he was dead, there was nothing I could do, and of how I had to be accepting of the situation. She can't understand how that doesn't help one tiny bit."Cessy! Slow down! You're going to get hurt!" I really don't feel like listening to those words that are coming out of my mothers mouth. All I really care about is getting out of this horrible place. I know that running away wouldn't make my father alive again, but I think that getting away from the whole setting of it all would make everything better. I keep running. Sure enough, my mom was right. I ran myself straight into the wooden railing of the stairs, and continued falling down until I hit the cold cement floor. I really regret doing so, because it only gives my mother another reason to speak. Sure enough her shrill voice screams,"Cessy! Are you okay sweetie!?" With millions of tears crawling down my face, I fling the doors open and slam them shut behind me. Consequently, I had forgotten to remove my thumb from in between the doors. I let out a cry of pain and embarrassment as I stumble down the sidewalk, holding my swollen thumb in my hand.I keep running. I have to keep on running, who knows where, until I get far enough away from my mom. I wish she could just see I want to be alone. I understand that she obviously doesn't care as much as I do about the death of Luke Parker Davis. I mean, she didn't even take her last chance to see him. Now, I doubt that she will even regret it.Finally, I can no longer hear her behind me. I cautiously turn around. Thank God! She isn't there. She must have given up on me. Good. I now slow down and look around. I realize that I am very cold. I was in too much of a hurry to grab my coat, and it is in the middle of January. So yes, I am freezing. That doesn't matter to me though. I'll simply push it out of my mind, hoping that it doesn't find its way back in.
The sky is really dark. Although it is only four o-clock, it looks almost like night. Snow is falling very lightly. It makes me feel better. You know, snow is very misunderstood. Adults, they hate snow. It's too cold, it causes a mess of things, and it prevents them from going where they need to go. Well then, get a blanket or two, clean up the messes, postpone your trips, and grow up! Can't they see how wonderful the snow is? It's beautiful. But not in their eyes. They only care about what they must be doing, and mainly only about themselves. If they sat out in the snow for only a little while, they would let go of all that haunts them. If only they would watch the snow, listen to the snow, and understand the snow, they would forget completely of their coldness, the messes, and everything else that they are worried of. It seems that they can't show their anger to other humans, so they blame everything on the innocent snow. Deep inside, they know that it is them who the blame belongs to.In the distance, about a half of a mile away, I can see a park. No one is there, so I decide to proceed towards it. As I walk, I try to catch flakes of snow on my tongue. At first, I feel ashamed, for I haven't done this since I was a child. Now, at age fifteen, I feel as happy as I have been in a long time. I seem to have forgotten all of my troubles. I am just walking down this empty street, not knowing where I am. It is below zero weather, and the air is dry. I am not wearing a coat or anything, but I feel as warm as ever. And, I am catching huge snowflakes on my tongue! I feel great! Exhilaration is overflowing my heart right now. I can feel a tiny smile starting to form on my face. Steadily, the corners of my mouth curl. After a while of debating whether I should feel this blissful, considering the situation I am in, a full grown smile is painted on my face. I cannot believe it! I am laughing! I nearly forgot what it felt like to laugh.Joyfully, I continue to dance down the street. At last, I reach my destination. The playground equipment is very old. The swings are piled with snow and a rather large amount of rust. There is a merry-go-round. It is red and made of wood and metal. I stride over to it with great caution. Slowly, I extend my right arm. I brush my hand gracefully along the metal bar attached to the spinning circle of wood. The snow that once lay there, I swept off. The metal is bitter cold. Far off, there is a tire swing. I run over to it, not knowing why I am so compelled, and I sit.I wonder why it is that I cried. I hadn't cried before over the death of my father. All the emotion that I was longing to let out just lay there, burning a whole in my heart. I feel that I have let my mother down. She had never wept. She had never shown any devastation. I wanted to be strong, like her. But I hadn't. I feel guilty of my weakness.Thinking of all this again, I start to feel the warmth leave my body. I can now realize that I'm shivering. I can't feel my feet, and my hands are purple and unable to move. Tears are frozen to my icy face. I look up. The stars are bright and the moon is high above me. It must be around eight o-clock! I now become conscious of how long I have been away. I am aware of the time I had consumed with pondering. Not thinking of my mother wondering where I am, I stay. I glide over to a wooden bench and lie down. I am numb. The cold no longer bothers me, and I close my eyes. Swiftly, I drift into sleep.