Can You Cut It? Portfolio

Flashlight

Lines of dark wooden benches filled the church, with colorful light filtering through the stained glass windows. One showed Mary cradling Jesus in his arms, kissing his forehead gently. Another showed Jesus on the cross with a crown of thorns around his head. Thick red blood ran down his body from deep cuts all over him, dripping off his toes, but in an almost beautiful sort of way.

A sea of black bodies rippled in front of me, dark and inky and mysterious. Tears blurred my vision and I blinked them away as I tipped my head downwards. As time ticked by, most of the people who were there came up to us and murmured condolences. They hugged my family and whispered that it would be alright. A girl approached me and I recognized her only from her black sneakers. I only knew one person who would wear tennis shoes to a funeral. Looking up, I managed a weak smile but couldn't keep it up and it crumbled.

"Oh, Ems," Lilly said, enveloping me in a hug. "I'm so sorry."

I tried to speak but only a sob escaped my lips. My chest hurt - so, so much. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face into her shoulder. Lilly stroked my long, brown hair.

"You are so strong," Lilly whispered into my ear and I felt a short sense of comfort before she had to let me go. Almost instantly I missed her warm touch. Lilly was my best friend, and she knew me better than anyone. Maybe even better than I knew myself, which was why we got along so well. She always knew how I was feeling. Always knew what I needed.

A few more minutes passed before the long, rectangular casket was rolled out. Mom ushered me and my brothers to the front row, where the casket was in clear sight. I almost couldn't stand to look at it because I knew who was in it.

When it reached the front, the coffin opened and a line formed with family in the front. Mom was first and she leaned down, tears streaming down her face. She kissed the person on his forehead, said a prayer before whispering something only she could hear. Then she left.

I was next. My breaths were shaky and my hands trembled as I looked over the wall of the casket.

Dad's mustache was neatly trimmed and his brown hair (which was the exact same shade of mine) was combed to the side. His eyes were shut and someone had put makeup on him to hide some acne scars he'd had for years. Dad's suit was ironed perfectly with no creases and his nails cut. He looked quite nice.

He looked so wrong.

Dad was a lively, energetic person who couldn't care less about what he looked like. His brown hair was always left wild and untamed (which Mom always complained about but we all knew that she secretly liked it) and he despised any sort of formal wear. He had always said that life was too short to force your feet into tight shoes and wear ties that would strangle you slowly.

I hated what they had done to him. He looked stiff and business-like, which he definitely wasn't. More tears formed and I wiped them away.

"I miss you, Dad," I said to him. "We all do." I couldn't think of anything else to say so I reached out and tousled his hair. Smudged the makeup on his cold, clammy skin. There. That was better. He looked more like himself now.

I paused. This was the last time I would ever see Dad again in person. Was there anything else I should say? Anything else I should do?

I stood there for another moment, taking him in for a second longer, before moving forward.

Everyone got a chance to look at Dad one last time and after that, a man clothed in white robes stepped up to the podium behind the casket. The priest. The colored windows bathed him in a soft pinkish glow and he began to talk. I should have paid attention but I zoned out, staring blankly at him without really listening.