The Valiant Sea

Funeral

Chapter 8

My eyes have been open for a few hours, but I don't feel awake, my eyes were glued closed for a long time thanks to the tears I shed last night, I don't want to feel this horrible, but I do, I don't want to cry a river, but I have. But Michael wouldn't want me to just lay here all day and feel sorry for him, or feel sorry for myself. He'd say 'Build a bridge and get over, squirt.'

Today, I'll say goodbye to my brother, my best friend, my everything, and say hello to a whole new world or torture, no belonging, and negativity. I will cry. It's already decided, not by me, but it's just a fact. It's going to happen, I feel so lost without him. I've never missed anyone like this before. I suppose I've never lost anyone like him before. I've never really had anyone except him to loose, now that he's gone I feel empty. It's just like he'd going to come back any moment. Come into my room and sit on the bed next to me, tenderly asking "What's wrong, squirt?" He always knew when to be serious and when to joke around. And even if he joked around and made me laugh I would feel better. He knew I hated the nickname "squirt", but he said as a term of affection when I was sad, not as an annoyance. So I learned to not get angry at him for saying it. But, now none of this matters. He's gone. As hard is it is for me to admit it to myself, it's the truth. All I have to do now is understand it....

I heard movement in the kitchen, pots and pans moving around. Taking this as a hint to get up, I told myself to move. But, my body was so tired and empty it did not follow orders.

"Get up Ariana, you need to get ready to say goodbye," I told myself. My body just lay there, my sore puffy eyes staring at the cracked white ceiling. Empty. I was empty.

"Get up," I ordered.

Nothing.

I tried a new tactic. Smaller steps.

"Put your arms under you to push yourself into a sitting position," I thought. No movement. My inner thoughts sighed.

Then, my arms seeming to move on their own accord slowly did as it was told. But the movement was like a robot, slow and stiff. Once I got into a sitting position, I sighed staring at my white door. My eyes still emotionless and empty.

"Now move your legs, so they are off your bed," I order myself.

Again the movement was like a robot, and my face felt passive. My wall was empty and I was facing my closet. My eyes just staring straight ahead, not moving them around like I normally would. They were just trained straight ahead.

"Now, stand up," I demand. I groan and don't move. This seemed the hardest of all stages. "Ariana!" I yell inside.

I shake my head, in so stiff movements I felt as though I needed oil for my joints. "Ariana, think of Michael," my inner thoughts reason with me.

What do think I'm doing? I argue with myself.

God, I'm weird.

"Would he want you to sit here all day and feel sorry for yourself? Would he want you to not say goodbye to him?" My thoughts reason with my persistent body.

I groan again, no, he wouldn't. He would want me to get up and say goodbye to him properly, like a good sister, that I should be.

I take a deep breathe and stand up. I'm a bit shaky on my feet at first, but then I get accustomed to standing. My eyes seem to brighten once I'm standing, I look around the room, my dark wooded closet, my messy bedside table, my bed behind me, my window. The curtain is down, but there is grey light peaking in through the side of the curtain, it wanted to be opened, to make my room light and not so dark and depressing.