SOUL

her fathers funeral

November 10th, 2014

Hours passed, and she sat in her room, staring at the clock, waiting. She knew the moment it would happen. The vision had shown her everything in perfect detail, down to the minute. She knew when her father would die, and she knew that she was letting it happen.

As the clock ticked closer to that moment, Marigold's hands trembled again, but this time it wasn't from fear. It was anticipation. She didn't want to feel this way, but she couldn't deny the sense of freedom that came with knowing that he wouldn't be around anymore. The thought of being free from his anger, his control—it made her feel lighter, like a weight had been lifted off her chest.

Finally, the moment came. The vision played out just as she had seen it. She felt it in her bones, the exact second when her father's life ended, miles away from her in a violent, chaotic scene that she had chosen to let happen.

And when it did, she sat there, staring blankly ahead.

There was no relief. No joy. Just a heavy, suffocating emptiness.

The knock on the door came late that night, a solemn rap that echoed through the silent house. Marigold's heart barely skipped a beat. She knew who it was. She knew what they were going to say.

She opened the door to find two police officers standing on the porch, their faces grim, their hats in their hands. One of them cleared his throat and spoke, his voice gentle but heavy with the weight of bad news.

"Miss Murphy, I'm sorry to inform you... your father was killed in the line of duty today."

Marigold nodded, her face blank. She felt the words wash over her, but they didn't sink in. She already knew. She had already seen it.

The officers offered their condolences, but Marigold barely heard them. She stood there, numb, staring at the spot on the floor where their shoes left wet footprints on the rug. The words "killed in the line of duty" repeated in her head, but they didn't mean anything to her. Not really.

When the officers left, Marigold closed the door and stood in the darkened house, alone.

For the first time in her life, she was free.

But the emptiness remained.

-

The day of the funeral was gray and overcast, as if even the sky couldn't decide how to feel. The air was thick with the weight of unsaid words, heavy with the tension of mourning a man who, in many eyes, had died a hero. But Leo couldn't shake the bitterness coiling in his chest.

They stood at the edge of the crowd, Leo with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black jacket, his family beside him, watching as the casket was lowered into the ground. The folded flag, draped over her father's coffin, was passed into Mary's hands with solemn words of honor and duty. He watched her closely, saw the way her hands held the flag so carefully, but her face... her face was a mask of numbness, of cold detachment.

Mary wasn't crying. She wasn't even blinking, just staring blankly ahead as if she was somewhere far away. Leo's gut twisted at the sight, and something angry and bitter surged up inside him.

He leaned over to his dad, his voice low, a harsh whisper. "This is ridiculous. They're honoring him like he was some kind of hero."

Roy shot him a warning look, his eyes wide with disapproval. "Leo, be respectful."

Leo clenched his jaw, his frustration bubbling over. "He hit her, Dad. He made her life hell. He doesn't deserve this."

His dad, standing beside them, shot him another hard look, his hand gripping Leo's shoulder with a firmness that made him shut up immediately. Leo pressed his lips together, biting back the rest of the words he wanted to say, but he couldn't erase the bitter taste that lingered.