The Deceased

Chapter Sixteen-Mourning

I was a shadow of myself, surrounded by death.
That's what it seemed, walking to his casket and unpricking the thorns from my skin, dropping the rose onto his chest along with the few hundred others.

News of Jeans death spread outside of Canarina. Reporters from New York and Australia have showed up to get a better idea of what happened that night. They won't find the answers they're looking for, and I find it hard to feel sorry for them after they have traveled so far.

Jean didn't look any different. If i had to pick anything it would be his clothes. Jean wore tight jeans and band t-shirts, not suits and ties. I'm staring down at the formal and boring black and white suit, thinking he wouldn't even wear that to his own funeral.

With that in mind, I had to smile. Jean would have found this whole situation hilarious. He would have enjoyed the attention, but a funeral really isn't his thing. A funeral isn't my thing, but i still find myself here. And why? I never stopped to ask myself, why am I here?

I take my seat and wait for the remaining mourners to say their goodbye, feeling my skin prickle with nervousness. I tilt my head to the back and just catch the side of Rhu's head as she turns away. Next to her, are the friends Jane and i questioned not long ago, all of them not bothering to look away.

I have never liked being stared at, but these girls wear the look of absolute disgust and anger. They look like they want to kill me. Do they still think I did this? When it was ruled as a suicide i stopped getting hate mail on my facebook page. Obviously there are some people who think i am responsible, and they don't look easily discouraged.

The cold stares make me feel alittle sick. What can I do to prove my innocence? How unfair is it that the killers are still out there somewhere, and i'm at my friends funeral, still being accused?

"I didn't think you would show up." Jane takes her seat next to me, sniffling quickly and wiping at her eyes. I take in her smudged makeup, her floor-length black dress and her painted black nails.

"Why wouldn't I?" I ask, honestly just curious.

"Because everyone in here thinks you did it...Look at his parents."

My throat closing up told me not to, but it was hard to not look at his parents after all this time. The last time I saw them was a week before he got killed, and they made me sandwhiches and gave me creaming soda. They're sitting to the side of us, and i have to lean forward the slightest to catch their eye.

They were already looking at me, well, his mum was. Jeans dad was staring straight ahead so he purposely wouldn't see me, while his mother did not try to hide her stare, the start of a tear in her right eye, shining at me. Her mouth was screwed in a tight line to stop from trembling. I couldn't do anything other than stare back and hope she would be open-minded. I didn't do this, I don't care if no one believes me, but his parents have to.

When she looked away I felt my heart break a little more that it already had with loss. I had not only lost my friend, or my enemy, but i've lost a second family. All because of lies and rumours. I have heard the gossip among everyone before the ceremony, guessing how I did it, what weapon I used, if i planned it or it happened simultaneously.

"Are you okay?" Jane whispers sypathetically.

I was trying to respond. Really, I was, and I would never usually ignore Jane. My mind felt distant and brought me to look at the bottom of the chair infront of me until the ceremony was starting and all the eyes on me, including reporters and the Priest, swivelled to the front.

"Today we are not mourning a death," the Priest begins, holding his bible as if it were a lifeline, "but celebrating a life."

Jane sniffs beside me.