The Funeral Style

Chapter Twenty One

You might think you are bad at that instrument that you play. but you aren't, because some people find it incredible that you can read music notes. To them, they look like a bunch of dots with sticks

us music readers are the superior now 

Chapter Twenty One Pilots

I still couldn't understand why Mr. Parity allowed such disgusting men to even be allowed to step foot in his luxurious cemetery. It didn't matter, as eventually, they did leave. But it seemed as if I were the only one still shocked at the fact that we could have all been shot.

My parents would have been so heartbroken. Losing both their daughters in the same year.

I undressed out of my 'cemetery uniform' and hung it up neatly in my closet. I had managed to sneak out of the cemetery as Mr. Parity was trying to calm all the girls down.

In my defense, it was my time to go home.

My mother was in the kitchen, making dinner. My father was sitting on the couch, trying to sort through some paperwork, which usually took him hours. Knowing it was best to leave him alone, I walked into the kitchen with my mother.

Before I could even open my mouth, my mother spoke, "You've been working an awful lot lately."

I glanced at her, "Yeah, I suppose I have."

She was chopping vegetables with a large kitchen knife, "I just-" She sighed, "I don't even see you anymore."

It was true, usually by the time I'd get home, she'd either be at work, or in bed.

"Mom." Now was the time I had to think of a perfect lie, to ease her depression, and to make me feel even more guilty. "I love my job." Biggest lie of them all, "I'm happy there."

"At a cemetery?" Her face hardened a bit, and I could understand why.

"Yeah."

"Your mother told me you were working at Parity Cemetery." My father walked in the room, "Honestly, darling, if you would have asked us before taking the job-"

"I'm old enough to work wherever I want to work, dad." I stated with a hardened tone, so they wouldn't bring up any unnecessary drama. The last thing I needed was them telling me to quit, not knowing that I can't.

"We know that." My mother said, "But can't you at least lower your hours? You leave the house at seven in the morning, and sometimes you don't come back until midnight."

"I came back earlier today."

"Sure, but will you tomorrow? We need to know these things, Avril, it's like you don't even live in this house anymore."

I should feel sorry. I should tell my parents that it was my fault, and that I would try everything I could to come home early everyday.

But the half of me didn't feel anything. My parents have never given me this much attention ever before.

It felt nearly suffocating.

"Mom, Dad, I can't just come home because you want to feel like some family that likes to spend time together. We've never done that before, and I'm not looking to start now."

"We just lost a daughter, how could you say something to heartless?" My mother's face was covered in shock.

My father's eyes dulled, "Have you gone completely cold?"

Have I?

"I suppose I have." I slowly took a step backwards. If they were going to use the only time we've got to spend together since Amanda's funeral, to just yell at me, I might as well exit before they got the chance.