Kleptomaniac

Epilouge

Nolliag

At her funeral there are few people,

but the few that are actually there

could not stop crying. I guess I am

in a state of shock. I have not shed a

tear. The few people who are there

gave me looks of disgust as if this

were my fault. Wait, it is my fault. It

hurts so bad, but I just know she

would have frowned at the sight.

All the people she loves and who

love her crying and hurting. She

was always too good and pure for

this world anyway. So before they

lower her casket I delicately lay a

single flower on her grave, a white

rose painted black. To be specific one

of the ones from the day she and I

started talking. And a new one that I

painted. With a sad smile I whisper,

in a cracking voice trying to hold

tears back, "now we're even I guess."

And then they lower her body and

my insides feel a sudden coldness

thinking "she was the only one. She

was the one."