Lost Tunnel

Crying. Its the first thing I hear as soon as I walk into the depressing church. Looking to my left I see my Aunt Claire giving my wailing mother a bear hug. To my immediate right I see familiar dark brown eyes giving me pitying looks. Walking closer I see him, pale but ethereal in the sleeping form they gave him.

Numb. Is all I feel when people look at me and my mother, blabbing about things that they truly did not truly know about. They say things like "He was such a great kid" and my personal favorite "I am so sorry for your loss, we loved him very much." You people did not know him like we did we were there, I was there.

Anger. A bitter-sweet feeling, that gives me a sense of joy. In this world of green and dark-blue which remind me of him. His favorite colour was dark-blue like his eyes.

And Lost. Something I am becoming familiar with as days pass on. Not the kind of lost when you're driving. No. The kind where people can not be saved from.

I am in a lost tunnel filled old laughter and happy memories that remind me of what I have lost in the span of a week. Never have I thought that losing someone can hurt you so much. I guess I learned my lesson now.

This is my first story so it is not going to be perfect.