A short note...
These are not short stories. Please start from Chapter 1.
No. I did not see the bright light like you've seen in the movies. I did not see the faces of my dead relatives flashing past my mind. Nothing like that. I was still in my room, in that favourite corner, in that favourite spot where the sun shines on every morning.
And in that corner, I waited; waited for my parents to find out about my death, to understand my pain, to notice me. One hour had passed. Two hours. Three. I felt like going right up to them and screaming, "Your child is dead. Don't you care?" But I couldn't. So all I could do was wait.
Finally, a loud bang on the door. It was my mum. Habit made me stand up and walk to the door, to open it. Then I remembered, and sat back down on the floor, waiting. At last, she decides to open it. The moment the door flung open, she took in a big breath, getting ready to spit more harsh words to hurt me, to tear me apart. But, no. No harsh words were heard; instead, a loud cry, followed by a scream, she ran to my bedside, shaking my lifeless body, shouting at my father to call the hospital.
Too late, mommy, too late. You could have prevented this. You could have stopped a depressed teenager from suicide, intentional or not. I was right; people only start notice and appreciate what they've lost, not what they currently own. Hypothesis accepted.
***
My funeral was held at church. My friends and relatives came forth to say some final words about me. I sat at an empty bench, listening to what each of them had to say. The good words, the praises, all in past tenses; they were like arrows, piercing into my parents' heart as they were said. Don't cry, mommy, don't cry. I know that you didn't know, I understand. But at least now you do. Now you know how I feel.
Finally, much to my anticipation, it was her turn to say the final words. I sat closer to make sure I catch every word.
She took a long time to finish. I did not know that she knew so much things about me. She remembered every accomplishment I made, some which I could not even remember myself. She listed my good deeds and the pleasant moments we had together, most which I did not regard as extraordinarily "pleasant", but she said it in a way that make her sound like she enjoyed it a lot. Maybe that's because I died. Maybe death magnifies every single thing you do. Making helping a beggar seem like you saved the Africa; making achieving an A in math seem like discovering the equation for general relativity; making a stroll in the mall seem like a trip to Disneyland.
Now that they know; now that my message is clear; now that my passive revenge had been taken, and now that my body is already buried 5 feet under, I followed my parents back into their car and headed for home.
Finally, much to my anticipation, it was her turn to say the final words. I sat closer to make sure I catch every word.
She took a long time to finish. I did not know that she knew so much things about me. She remembered every accomplishment I made, some which I could not even remember myself. She listed my good deeds and the pleasant moments we had together, most which I did not regard as extraordinarily "pleasant", but she said it in a way that make her sound like she enjoyed it a lot. Maybe that's because I died. Maybe death magnifies every single thing you do. Making helping a beggar seem like you saved the Africa; making achieving an A in math seem like discovering the equation for general relativity; making a stroll in the mall seem like a trip to Disneyland.
Now that they know; now that my message is clear; now that my passive revenge had been taken, and now that my body is already buried 5 feet under, I followed my parents back into their car and headed for home.
0 Responses to “Chapter 2 - Funeral”
Post a Comment