On Three (EDITED)

The Funeral

The sky wasn't grey or crying like it does in the movies; it was actually one of the hottest days in July-maybe even of the year. The air was so dry, it almost hurt to breath because it felt like sandpaper was rubbing against your throat. We held the fistfuls of dirt and threw them into the six foot pit. It landed on the stained wood with no more than a soft thud.

Sobbing wracked Mom's body. Her body was limp and I felt like her knees would buckle from underneath her. I looked up to Anne's picture next to the pit. Her soft face was bordered with straw straight hair made of starling feathers. It's hard to believe that we're sisters. My face isn't nearly as soft and my hair not nearly as dark. My chin could double as a shovel and my cheekbones provided the only shape in my face. My hair was a mix between sand and the dirt we dropped into her grave.

"My child!" Mom shrieked. "She's not...dead!" She muffled her cries with a sweaty palm. Dad held her and stroked the back of her head. He shook with grief as well, but was able to keep strong enough for us.

I turned away, unable to take the scene that was unfolding in front of me; however the feeling of discomfort lingered and ripped through me, leaving me sobbing uncontrolably. Even though nobody's face was dry, I felt like I was out of place by sobbing alone at my sister's funeral.

The afternoon wrapped up and turned into an evening of uncomfortable silence torn with sullen words. The only things Mom said was: "Anne, my poor Anne." "God, have mercy." "She was only fourteen." "She didn't even leave a note." The pauses between her words lengthened in time. Dad left the dinner table first after kissing us both on the foreheads. He retired to his room where I could hear his sobs. He was too prideful to break in front of us, especially when Mom was so shattered. I looked down to my carrots and stabbed them with my fork repeatedly until Mom shouted, "For the love of God, eat your damn food! Anne could have eaten that! Why are you still here? Why isn't she with us? Just fucking eat!" She slumped back down and sobbed. Her plate was untouched along with Dad's.

She eventually got up and went to bed. I was left at the table to stare blankly at the three empty chairs around me.

Days repeated themselves, but Mom slowly got a hold of herself. Dad seemed to bumble around town and go around with work nicely, but when he returned home, he would stare at her bedroom door for several minutes, almost waiting for her to walk out. Then the days turned into weeks and those turned into months. Seven months passed and everyone seemed to be back to a "normal" state.

I was fine without Anne, but I wish I would have said something. I wish I didn't let her die, even though everyone assured me over and over again that there was nothing I could do. That's at least what they believed.

Edited