The next few days seemed to fly by. People leaving my house, family and friends crying, people who I don’t know crying. It all passed by in a daze. My death came back o me, and it replied in my mind every day.
The car hitting me, a sharp, shooting pain in my chest shot up, stinting. The moment my should left my body, I don’t rember. Nor do I wish to. It makes me even sadder.
My body was cleaned, and dressed. I have to say, I was sixteen years old, and I never really was into making myself over. But, my Aunt Rose did. I’m thinking she was the one who choice the outfit I was going to be buried in. A black cocktail dress. What was wrong with her?
The day of my funnel was two months from my seventh birthday. It was a cold, wet day. Almost like the sky was mourning me. That’s what my best friend, Summer, told Caroline though tears as she held her hand.
My casket was carried down the aisle of the church by my three cousins, Mark, Alex and Paul, a friend from school, my uncle and my God Father, who was only thirty.
The church was packed, with people I didn’t know. All wore in black and very silent, even the children. Girls from school who hated me spoke.
Ashley Hana, a girl who called me a slut in seventh grade, acted like my best friend. Bawling her eyes out. A boy who was in my homeroom, Jack I think is his name, came up and helped her back to her seat.
After the Pastor finished the service, my body was carried to the adjacent Crematory, where my Grandparents where buried.
Caroline laid a bouquet of roses in my grave before leaving. But she wasn’t ready to leave me. Her tiny body fought hard with my Uncle to be moved from the ground where she was sitting.
“I’M NOTLEAVING EM!” She screamed, her hand digging into the ground.
“EM’S NOT COMING BACK, CAROLINE!” My Father screamed at her, before taking it back. Emily looked up, tears in her eyes.
“Yes she is.”
“No she’s not.”
No I’m not.