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There were 5 stages of grief. Felicia Hardy knew that much, though she could not recall a single one. She always wondered when people mentioned this fact, what happened after stage 5? Did the person miraculously get over it? She doubted it. This feeling of emptiness, this...this black fog that clung to her skin no matter what she tried to do. Burning hot molten tar, filling your body where there should have been blood. No, she concluded, pessimistically. After stage 5, that was you, stuck in that state for the rest of your life.
The day of Gwen Stacy's funeral was an ordinary one. Life moved fast for those that had no friends to bury, and slow for those that stood on top of the hilled graveyard, cloaked in black. Felicia stood, watching as shovel after shovel of dirt was thrown down on top of wood. The girl could not fathom it, and perhaps she was glad she could not, fathom the body of her friend lying in that rectangular box. Her black suede gloved hands wrapped around a de-thorned pink rose, that she unconsciously threw down, thumping deafeningly to her against the box. It was then that the girl turned in her black trench coat and heels, to stand by her mother. Her head turned briefly to look back behind her, where Peter Parker stood with his aunt, tears strolling silently down his cheeks. The boy fell out of his grief for a moment to look at the girl whose silvery white hair was rolled into a low set bun, a black pill box hat upon her hair where a lace veil covered her dark green eyes etched in cat like makeup. The girl hadn't spoken to him since it happened, and how could he blame her? There was nothing to say. Nothing. His mind fell elsewhere as the priest taking the service began to talk, words that would never correlate with him. Nor the girl who stood eyes unblinking to the front, a gloved hand gripping tightly on a piece of paper with a speech scrawled on it. Peter watched the girl as she reluctantly stepped up to the front, unfolding the paper slowly clearing her throat. The entire hill side fell into silence waiting for the girl to speak. To say anything. Her eyebrows frowned at what she wrote, shaking her head to herself before she stuffed the paper into her pocket looking up at the funeral goers.
"I could stand up here and tell you all that Gwen Stacy was my best friend. That she was like the sister I never had. That-that she was kind to everyone she met. I could tell you that Gwen Stacy gave everyone a second chance. But I don't need to tell you because you all already know that. I was never the one that was good with words, so I'm going to use Gwen's. She did this big speech at graduation.....she was valedictorian-and uhm-she was so nervous about it." Felicia shook her head with a forlorn chuckle at the memory of Gwen calling her the night before, worrying about every tiny little detail of the speech. But most importantly she wanted Peter to hear it. But he missed it, so this was as good as he was going to get. "But I knew whatever she was going to say would be the right thing. She spoke of dark days ahead, and days where you feel all alone. I don't know about you, but many of my days sound like that right now. But those are the days when hope is needed most. Keep it alive. No matter how buried it gets, or lost you feel, Gwen would want us, to hold onto hope and keep it alive. We have to be greater than what we suffer. I know it feels like we're saying goodbye to her today, but I hope that you can all carry apart of her spirit into every day that comes....thank you"
