Broken Inside

Funeral

The walls are black, cold and icy. Cold from the winter weather outside of the church and icy because of the emotions.  Death within a family or community produces heightened emotions and experiences which can be confusing and even surreal. The range and power of emotions - shock, loss, anger and regret alongside love, joy, respect and gratitude can be overwhelming.

The church is quiet, you don't hear any sound from the audience, just the breathing of the life. Nobody says a word, it's a solemn celebration.

The only voice you hear, is the voice of the priest. He talks about life and the hard times to figure out how to live. How to produce life.

But then again, nobody really listens to his words, all of their eyes are focused on the altar.

In front of the altar lays a black, white coffin on a bed of red rose petals. The coffin is covered in red velvet on which a body lays.

A body of a boy. A boy in his early life. The life is gone out of the skin within his blood and just white skin stayed. The chocolate brown curls curl around his face, tied back by a green banana and he smiles slightly. On the first sight you would almost think he is just sleeping, but then you look twice and the pale of his lifeless body shows it's effect.

He is clothed in his favourite white sweater, on which fuck you, life is written on, black skinny jeans and his favourite white converses.

His family is crying. Crying to show their emotions to the loss they recieved.

They still can't believe what's happining. What happened to their beloved son, stepson, brother, nephew, grandson and friend.

They still can't compromise that he alone caused his dead. That he wanted to die so badly that he hurt himself so many times.

But in his face on the velvet you cannot see the pain he went through. It is like he is happy where ever he is now. That this was the right decision to do.

But he caused so many people so many pain.

But was for his own good.

HIs best friends walk up to the coffin and lay belongings into it, onto the chest of their dead friend.

An album, a picture with all five of them, a bottle of vodka and their first disc record.

One of them starts to hold a speech and it's driving all of the audience to cry.

Harry and I once had this conversation about death and funerals and he told me that he never want a normal speech, in which someone says how greatful they were to know him until his dead, how nice and kindful he was and that everyone just loved him. No, he wanted one with the truth. And so I start. I am Zayn Javaad Malik, member of One Direction and the best friend of Harry Styles. We never defined eachother as best mates, we never had the urge to speak it loud out. No, we knew it when we looked into eachother's eyes. He was funny and cool, but also annoying and loud, but that are characteristics I loved about him, he always laid it on the line, was never quiet and always told us what was on his mind. I won't tell you how he was the last month of his life, because we don't want to remember him that way. We want to remember him in the way he was before all this shit happened. Kind, funny, outgoing, annoying in a good way and always open for everything and everyone. Loving fans and being there for everyone. And that was Harry Styles. Our best friend.

Then they go back, silently crying.

But one friend is missing. His best friend.

Louis Tomlinson