Numb.

My hand drops with sweat and falls from the cuff.

"Honey, do you need help getting dressed? The funeral is in 20 minutes!"

"No mom! Just give me a second!" I tried for the thirtieth time to do up my cuff button and still I haven't been able to. It's probably a sign. A sign from the universe saying, "No! Don't go to the funeral!" But I had to. I couldn't skip out. He was my dad after all.

I trudged down the stairs toward my mom. Once I got close enough I stuck my arm out towards her. She got the hint.

"We're going to need to get you a new suit soon honey. This one is getting too small." I just nodded my head in agreement. My mom was amazing, she really was, but I just wasn't talkative. I felt bad, but I suppose I had a good reason.

My mom was shuffling around getting everything ready for the dinner party after. Personally I think it's a little insensitive to have a party afterwards but that's what he wanted. For everyone to be happy.

"Honey, are you coming?" My mom snapped me out of my thoughts. She was standing at the door holding it open. It's strange but I never realized how beautiful my mother actually was. With the light shining on her naturally curly brown hair it sparkled as the wind blew through it. Her ice blue eyes were soft, sad maybe, and her pale skin complemented everything perfectly. She was older, in her forties, but beautiful. Stunning even.

As I was walking to the car something didn't feel right. Like deep down in my stomach there was a wrestling match. It's probably just because I didn't eat breakfast.

The drive to the church felt long and tiresome even though it was only 15 minutes. I guess driving behind a hearse really dampened the mood, but I felt it again. Every time I looked at the hearse my stomach went into knots. Does this happen to everyone on days like this?

My mom pulled into the parking lot following the hearse exactly. She pulled into the first available spot she saw. Maybe it was my mind playing tricks but I swear I saw a tear fall. But my dad and her divorced, why would she be crying?

"Mom, are you uh... Okay?" I'm not really good at comforting people. It was never one of my skills.

"Of course I'm fine honey. Are you ready?" She opened her car door without giving me a chance to answer. No, I was definitely not ready but I guess that didn't matter.

As I walked into the church I looked up. The ceiling was a monopoly of stained glass colour. The picture I kept looking at was of a young boy being held by an angel. You could even say he was being saved, and at that point I felt relieved. Like the picture gave me some sense of hope. A sense of... Safety.

"Okay Cameron. I know this will be hard for you so it's okay to let your emotion show. Grown men do cry." What was she talking about? I wasn't going to cry. Was I? I never thought about this day. I never thought it would come. Dads are supposed to be invincible. But they're not. I couldn't say I was happy, but I wouldn't say I was sad. I was numb. My mom just kept talking, "...Just remember the good times..." The good times? The only times I remember was when he'd get his leather belt. Never on me, always on my sister. Because of him my sister died. Overdose.

"Mom, I'll be fine." We finally sat down and the feeling in my stomach came back. I couldn't be sad, no. I'm angry. That's what that is.

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family. We are gathered here to celebrate the beautiful life that Oswald Cammer has lived." Beautiful life? He's got to be kidding me.

"Many of you know him as-" The priest stopped. He had a blank look on his face. All of a sudden he lurched forward, red staining his white robe. He died. No, he was killed. But by who?

My question was no sooner answered when I heard the bangs. It was a mix of the doors slamming open and shots firing. I jumped. Dare I turn around? I did. Stupid.

They were wearing blue. Six men dressed in head to toe navy blue. My father's favourite colour. Maybe it was the dear talking but I swear I saw one of my dad's coworkers- and he saw me. I think. I was starting to think my dad's death wasn't an accident like the autopsy report said.

The men were big. Strong. Ten times the size of me. I needed a plan. One by one people kept dying. I needed to hide, though it was probably too late. I decided to duck. There was a door close and I figured if I could get the door open without them noticing I could survive. But did I want to survive?

I started crawling before I could answer my own question. I was so close to the door, only an arm's length away until I heard footsteps. I couldn't tell if they were going away or coming. My ears were still pounding from the gunshots. Either way, I froze. I'm not sure how many minutes went by, it could have been an hour or just sixty seconds. I could still hear the women's screams as they died.

I figured I was safe so I stood up and looked around. Everyone was dead. My mother, my aunt, my everybody.

I called 9-1-1 but didn't say anything. I couldn't. My thoughts were a jumbled mess so how could I form a sentence?

After I hung up I walked around. I went over to my mother. I caressed her face and kissed her one last time. When I got back up I realized the feeling in my stomach stopped. But something, some universal pull, made me look up to the angel and the boy. That's when I knew what happened.

I went over to him and laid down beside him. Maybe he didn't live a beautiful life, but he was trying real hard to make up for it.

I laid there and cried.