The Mediocre Life Of Isosceles Washington

On A Gray Morning

The rain fell and slid down the somber face of Isosceles Washington as he stood, face upturned to the crying sky, in his backyard. Everything was gray: the sky, the water droplets, even the trees and muddy grass seemed to be tinted. Yes, everything was sad and melancholy on this gray morning.

Or at least, it should've been.

The sky was, in fact, cloudless and glowing a radiant, brilliant blue. The trees and grass were a healthy green, the healthiest green they ever had been. The only water came from Isosceles', or as his friends called him, Ice's forehead, where the sun prevailed against his sweat glands. There was also the sprinkler, which he had turned on just for the occasion, but it only left silvery droplets of the grass blades and flower petals that caught the light and made the scene even more mystical.

Everything was beautiful and happy, which was so unbecoming it was offensive. This was not how a funeral should be.

It is common for funerals to have more than one person attending them, so that the pain of loss is not carried on the shoulders of one, but instead distributed amongst the multitude and thus lessening the grief. Such was not the case here. Ice stood alone with a hastily dug hole at his feet. The cardboard box in his hands wasn't very heavy, but somehow he felt it contained more than he had ever held before. Scalene was, after all, a great cat, and with great cats came fond memories, and those hold the most weight. Strangely enough, the weight wasn't in his hands, but in his throat, choking him. He swallowed hard and didn't let a single tear escape.

The truth was, Ice didn't invite anyone to Scalene's funeral. No one else had lived with her, so no one knew her like he did anyway. It seemed a waste to invite people to the funeral just to comfort him. Besides, who could he invite? His family couldn't care less about what he did as long as it didn't get them into trouble. His colleagues were all too busy to bother, and as for friends.... he had very few of those indeed. Some of his students? He wasn't particularly close to any of them. Thus he concluded it wasn't worth bothering anyone over.

As he lowered the box into the grave, he began to think. Sometimes it is a very good thing, to think. He required it of his students, and it was necessary if you wanted to get anywhere good in life. But most of the time, it was a pain, an anchor to drown us deeper into ourselves. He tried very hard not to think when he was alone, but today the thoughts came charging in a rush of emotion. Memories flashed in his mind in rapid succession: a little kitten, barely able to stand, arriving at the house for the first time from the pet store, staring at him with those green eyes; a slightly larger kitten, hurriedly making its way to the food bowl when the box of treats was opened; a fully grown cat with a glossy black coat streaking into his bed at the sound of thunder; an old friend, slowly slinking along to the food bowl again, but this time it only takes a few bites; and finally, a skinny mound of black fur lying motionless next to his slippers...

His vision blurred, but not an ounce of composure was lost, nor a single tear shed, as he carefully patted the earth down. A small rock, bearing an engraving that read SCALENE was placed on top of the bare dirt.

With that he stood, dusted off his pants, and made his way inside. After all, no matter what happened to Ice in his personal life, the world still turned. He still had to go to work, and a room full of college students weren't going to lecture themselves. Well, some of them might, but it wouldn't be very good lecturing, else he'd be out of a job.

The man grabbed what was left of his emotions, stuffed them in a box, locked the box, and assumed his usual grimace. Then he grabbed his briefcase, and his coffee, locked the door and was on his way.

His students claimed afterwards that "Professor Washington was very energetic today. Nobody can talk history like that old Isosceles does."