The funeral was finally over.
49 members of my family came.
The irony.
They all tried to talk to me.
Joseph had to explain that I do not speak to anyone anymore.
To anyone but him.
And I never will speak to anyone but Joseph.
All because of it.
My grandmother, not the dead one, begged me to speak to her.
But I would not.
Because of it.
My cousins thought I was doing this for attention.
If only they knew how much I was effected by it.
It changed my life.
And now I will never be the same.
If only my parents had not decided to go our for dinner on the 49th day of the year.
Then I wouldn't be like this.
YOU ARE READING
49
Short Story"The number 49 never used to have any significance in my life. It was always just the number after 48 and before 50. But that was before it happened."
