The Truth

Chapter 3

The funeral was boring. I don't know what I expected, to be honest. The vicar had enthusiasm by the bucket loads, but sadly God failed to bless him with even the smallest amount of charisma. And I guess it just felt kind of detached, what with there being so many people there. I was made to speak. I don't remember what I said but it was probably just some random babble about how much I loved and admired him because I hadn't prepared. I had a special relationship with grandfather and I wasn't intending it to become public and the subject of gossip. Everyone's words of consolation sounded hollow, they meant well but offended with each repetition.

"Our thoughts are with you at this time of great time of sadness." One uttered through a handkerchief, like she knew him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Another sobbed.

"He was such a wonderful man, I can't believe he's gone." The vicar practically wailed. 

Jackasses. 

I had to get away from them and their condolences, so I slipped out the back of the church that everyone was hanging around drinking coffee in. I walked with my head up towards the sky, my eyes closed. I drew in a deep, calming breath. The air was bitterly cold and stabbed my lungs as it went in, but in a way I liked it because it kept me out of my thoughts and in my body. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue and there was a flock of small birds gliding and twisting through the sky, no doubt migrating south for the inevitably snowy winter.

I walked through the green graveyard until I reached the weeping willow tree by the little pond at the end. I loved that tree, and often escaped the dull mandatory Sunday service to go down and climb up it, ending up straddling one of the thick branches. That was exactly what I found myself doing the moment I reached the tree. I buried my hands deep into my pockets and pulled out the oats I had taken from the farm store house, having anticipated that I would end up at the tree at some point. I threw them into the pond water, and almost instantly all of the ducks flocked towards the spot, squabbling over who got the oats. I smiled at the simplicity of their lives, how all that really mattered was food, shelter and reproduction, and how when that's all that mattered it was much easier to appreciate the extras, like a green-eyed, black-haired teenage girl in black jeans, a black jacket and black shoes throwing you horse oats. And death was just another part of life and not something worth moping over.

As I decided to let one of my long legs hang down and  leaned back against the trunk, I heard footsteps crunching down the winding brown gravel path that runs down the hill of the graveyard. I twisted around to try and see who it may be, thinking it could maybe be Bonnie, who was more tolerant of people and the vicar than I but still usually ended up by the pond with me, but my vision was blocked by the cascading branches. I decided to climb a little higher up the tree where they were thinner and peek through there. I pushed back the branches and squinted my eyes to see who it was. It wasn't Bonnie.