Outcasts

[25]

...

Each one, holding a rose. She hated roses. They all took turns talking about how much they would miss her, no matter how little they knew about her. They knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. They were burying her six feet under the ground and placing a stone slab over her as a sign of "respect". The whole town was there, paying their respects for the woman who they saw as good woman who was dedicated to protecting the endangered species of wolves.

I was well aware that I would be mentioned in the funeral, a precaution she had planned so everyone in town would know that the sanctuary would live on, through me. I was expected to stand there, and talk about how she was "missed but not forgotten" "physically gone, but spiritually in our hearts".

Other people who she may have spoken to once in a blue moon would talk about her as if she was their closest friend. Pretending, for the sake of "respect for the dead", that she was really the best person you could ever know.

I could already picture them, all around the pit they would lock her in, letting tears of pity fall as her body was placed into the cold ground. Then, they would each take a turn throwing a little bit of dirt, maybe a rose, and then they would leave for food to reminisce about the good times they didn't have with her.

They knew nothing about her. Nothing about her life, how she died. All they knew was that she was a victim of a "hunting" accident. The last of a long line of deaths, ending with the just an "oh well".

Where was I? I was in the open garage wearing ripped jeans and grey sweatshirt, her great sweatshirt. Rain was falling onto the roof of the garage, creating a rhythmic song that seemed to mourn for the lost life.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the forbidden number.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Beeeeeeeeeep

"Hey! It's Bella! Sorry I missed your call. I'll call back as soon as possible! Don't forget to leave a message!"

Beeeeeeeeeeeep

I couldn't stop the tears that fell.