Carnations over her body

Will write more today, but I just wanted to post this here. The very first paragraphs of the 2nd draft of a story I wrote with my love Fred. No, we didn't wrote it together. He wrote his own novel and I wrote this. The first version of this, I mean. This is barely the start of the second draft for "Death Lens", the story I wrote last November during NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month.

It is quite different, quite new, but the core of the story is the same.

Carnations over her body

The smell of grief was all around me. It was everywhere. Does grief even have a smell? I think it does. It smells like damp grass and old dresses and rainy weather. But it wasn't raining. It had already stopped when my father and some other men carried the coffin to the burial place. I knew then, more than I could ever know that this was real. The death was real, the absence was real, the pain was so very real.

It was real like dreams are real while you are dreaming. Somehow I felt like I was watching my own funeral from a third person perspective, like I were a cloud or a ghost. Probably a ghost.

It is not natural for fathers and mother to put q son six feet under. But few people can relate with the agonizing feeling of seeing a twin sister go under the ground.

And here I was, red carnations in hand, waiting for my turn to throw some dirt at her. Death is a funny fellow. Sometimes he comes when you're not really waiting for him, when you have almost forgotten that he exists, and sometimes he just lurks around for quite a while before he decides to make a move. He lurked lurked around my sister for her whole life.

He was almost our friend now, mine and hers, the type of friend you don't really want to have close by, but since he must, you make friends with him.

I remember yesterday. Well, of course I do. It was freaking yesterday. What I mean to say is that I remember yesterday as if it was happening right now in front of me, and I knew those memories would last me a lifetime.

She was pail and broken. Nothing unusual there. She had been pail and broken her whole life. Well, not all of it, but almost. My mother said she looked healthy and normal until she was two...