He couldn't remember if it was thundering that morning or not and couldn't feel the heavy rain that pelted down relentlessly on his face, in fact it seemed like he couldn't feel at all. He prided himself on being numb, unbothered by emotion and therefore more efficient that way, or so he thought. The funeral for his lover had been quite cliche so far, a horde of people in all black, mascara running down female relatives faces, umbrellas protecting everyone from the weather.
The weather was almost ideal as it masked his lack of tears perfectly. The only 'tears' he shed were the ones that streaked on his chiselled face due to the rain, a face that seemed to be chiselled of marble or maybe something softer, something more brittle, something like limestone. As the priest was reading the eulogy his mind wandered, and his vision had turned fuzzy. He wondered if he should console her sister but realised that his absent eyes might send the wrong message. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away from the service, leaving the others to mourn.
The moment he got into his car and close the door he let out a guttural cry and hit the dashboard, one, two, three times. "Why, why, why...," over and over and over again began playing over in his head, loud enough to deafen him. Why was he feeling this way?, wasn't she the love of his life? was all that was plaguing his mind. Maybe this is just a sick dream he convinced himself, surely he would feel something, anything at the death of his beloved wife. He didn't and it was terrifying
