Lost in Hollywood

Six Feet Under

Sky had never attended Kat's funeral.

By the time Kat had been buried, Sky had still been fighting for her life in the hospital. She had missed it all - the flowers, the reception, the crying classmates, the devastated family. Everyone else had got to say their goodbyes to Kat - even Dad, who had spent 24/7 in the hospital ever since the shooting but had now left Sky's bedside for two whole hours.

After they had released her from the hospital, Sky had gone to Kat's grave.

But Kat had been six feet under for weeks at that point, the flowers were rotting on the tomb under the bright sunlight, Kat's beautiful, strong body was rotting in the coffin under the dirt and the leaves, and Sky wasn't wearing a black dress like the people in the funeral had been wearing, she had hospital slippers and loose sweats and one of Kat's Slipknot hoodies when she fell on the dirt on her knees, on her face, crying, crying, crying, drowning in her tears as her fingers gripped the soil and the dying flowers, the cold, smooth stone that stood on Kat's grave.

Dad had carried her home that day, picked her up from the ground, her strengthless, broken, aching body which was filled with an ocean of sorrow, and as that ocean had kept flowing down her cheeks, Dad had gently washed her dirt-covered hands and her hair and her clothes, had told her that she would see Kat again, but not like this, not dead and gone, not in a coffin six feet under but someday, somewhere, in another lifetime she would see Kat again.

That's what Sky kept thinking when she stood next to Luke's open casket wearing a dull, ill-fitting black dress Dad had bought her the day before. That she would see Luke again one day, just like she had seen Kat. That there might be an ocean of time and space between them now, but one day, one day she would see Luke again. And that day she wouldn't be wearing this stupid dress that didn't feel like her at all, that was too big and baggy on her trembling body, that was too black and too sad, no, she would be wearing a pink dress, and high heels and golden earrings, and Luke would be wearing his black denim and a sleeveless shirt and his piercings, instead of this—

Was that really a white, collared shirt they had forced on him now, that he couldn't argue anymore?

Sky's heart was breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces as she looked at the boy in the casket. He would have hated every single thing about his funeral, starting from the flowers, ending to the sermon, to the reverend who'd been so full of shit, repeating God is good, God is forgiveness, God will accept Luke in the heavenly home and there he will know no sorrow, no pain, and it all hurt Sky like a dagger that was stuck between her ribs. Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord—

But what did Luke had to repent? What were his sins?

He was beautiful, even in death, beautiful and flawless and pure, even if they had changed his looks and made him a stranger, taking away the bubblegum pink of his hair, the piercings on his face, the black eyeliner, the paleness of his cheeks. The hazelnut hair of this dead boy in the casket was shiny, there was a faint fake blush on his cheeks and only small holes on his skin told of the removed rings on his eyebrows and his lips.

He looked peaceful, like he was just sleeping, and yet not - his stillness was absolute, he was Snow White in the glass coffin, he was Sleeping Beauty under the spell of the evil witch, but no kiss would wake him up, no amount of love could break the spell of death, because he was truly gone, gone, gone, and he was never coming back.

Nothing of him remained, but this empty shell that didn't even look like him.

"Luke would have fucking hated this. He was an atheist." Sky whispered to Dad silently, as they left the church.