*Highest rank #10 in Short Story* (Featured By Wattpad)
By the end of the night two teenagers were dead.
Mason Dale was killed. His throat slit by a beers broken glass. He was found in his friends basement. Some say his death was an accident, othe...
No Part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including (but not limited to) the direct plot, prologues, epilogues, chapters and characters without prior written permission from the author.
Any unauthorized copying/editing/stealing/printing/transmitting/translating/manipulation/ etc. of this work is punishable by law.
This story is originally written by Marcella under Wattpad.com. If you find other sites featuring the book please report it immediately to this author. Furthermore, relativeness to other stories and real events are purely coincidental.
Please don't steal my work! I've worked very hard on Secrets, and I know you can create your own wonderful stories by yourself.
It hurts to picture her, inside her mahogany casket. The pain however, doesn't prevent my imagination from conspiring against me. When I close my eyes I can see her skin; pale, lifeless. Her eyes, permanently sealed. Glued shut. Her brilliant red hair, brushed- neatly positioned around her face like a halo.
Her parent's requested an open casket. I suspect it's because they wanted her corpse to serve as a reminder- that a young, beautiful, life filled with potential had been stolen from them. I couldn't bring myself to look at Alice when I stood to pay my respects. I just stared at her hands, folded neatly against each other. Her nails had been painted a subtle pink. She would have wanted to be buried in color. Her nails had always been freshly painted, usually in neon. They looked so cold inside the casket, like they didn't belong to her.
I know that eventually her corpse will rot. Her skin will begin to flake like ashes. Insects, worms, all the vile things that creep through the soil, will eventually eat through her casket, and devour the silken interior where she rests. Her gorgeous red hair will eventually disintegrate. There will come a day where only her bones will remain. A memory of what could have been. A memory of her.
Until there is no one left to remember her name, and then she will have died twice. Once in life and again in memory.
Alice had told me once, that she didn't want to be buried when she died.
"I want to be cremated, and then I want the wind to blow me away."
She had said it with a smile, as if the thought of dying was something to fantasize about. Like planning a wedding, or writing out a list of names for your future children. Something still so far away. Something that happened to other people. Not you, not yet.
"There's something so morbid about funerals. About being buried. I don't want my physical body to be trapped underground. I don't want people to feel this burden to come visit me, and feel all sad about it. I want my death to be happy, like a celebration. I want people to remember- I lived- you know?"
I thought she was being silly, speaking of death so young. The whole conversation had made me uncomfortable. But I nodded and agreed.
Now I finally know what she meant. My stomach churns as I think of myself in that casket instead. I don't want to be put under the earth to rot. I don't want people to visit me once a year on my death day. My throat tightens, my jaw trembles. I try to fight the urge to cry, but I feel a tear sliding down the slope of my cheek and I know I have failed. Failed her too. Alice wouldn't want me to be sad. If she could, she would be shaking my shoulder, letting out an exasperated sigh, and she'd urge me to remember, no, celebrate her life.
But, she didn't really live. She didn't get to fall in love, to have children, to travel the world. Alice never got to live.
My shoulders begin to viciously shake, and I know I am about to start sobbing. I know I am about to lose control in front of the entire town of Allenwood. My mom, who is sitting besides me, gently places a hand on my thigh. When I meet her eyes, she is whispering, "It's okay Elizabeth, go."
I nod, slowly rising from my seat. A Pastor is reading a eulogy from beside Alice's casket. The sound of his voice is muffled, I can't even make out his words.
I manage to keep myself composed, and I take tiny steps out of the funeral home. It is quiet in the lobby, I play with the string of pearls around my neck nervously and push through the double glass doors.
I fish through my clutch for the car keys and then I swear loudly. My parents still have them, of course they do. I shouldn't have bolted from the room in panic.
I don't have time to think of a new plan, because I keel over, the pain in my abdomen spreads to my chest, and I am releasing ugly, gasping, cries. I am struggling to breathe, to see, to focus. I wipe furiously at my eyes, but it's like a tiny window wiper fighting against a monsoon. There is no point.
I lower myself to the ground. The asphalt of the parking lot is rough against my legs, but I embrace the discomfort.
