Author Topic: Need BetaReaders:A Carnation's Funeral(Revision of Our Funeral) TW at original  (Read 147 times)

Offline Johnry Silverio

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Curtains filtered sunlight, and my bedroom fell in dusk. On my desk, dad’s photo frame rested. His gaze piercing. Presence lingering. Wooden planks creaked and my darkened eyes darted at the sound.

Nothing.

I searched for my slippers as the mattress’ squeaks mixed with the ticking of clocks. Hair rose at my tan skin, saluting my courage to attend. Been three years since we spoke. With body steeled, I left the apartment.

Streets bustled with cars, the sidewalk scenting of midsummer showers. Around the block was a small cafe. A bell jingled as its door opened and the aroma of roasted coffee beans wafted on air. My eyes caught a table by the window—our favorite spot. We used to be here every day—dad and I.

Minutes passed. The door chimed, my neck stretching to peek. Mom strolled inside, a man beside her fashioned in black apparel—expensive ones. A friend?

We exchanged pleasantries.

Mom’s hands swished the space, illustrating the gossip prattling out her lips. Her long brown-dyed hair bounced to her rhythm and gesture. 
   
Mom giggled.

“Surprise!” she clung on the man’s arm, “He’s my boyfriend!”

My eyes widened, stomach heaving.

“Congrats,” I flashed a strained smile.

The voices stung. My legs twitched and fingers fidgeted.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My throat dried.

“Well, I did now,”

Fists clenched on my lap. “Dad died so you find another man?”

“Honey!”

“I’m just asking,”

Mom quieted.

Blades of disappointment, confusion, and anger clashed inside me—none victorious. The voices are louder now. Irritated, I nipped my lips.

“Excuse me.” I stroke a leer, piercing them both before storming out.

My head ached, another migraine? At my apartment, the door slammed against the wall. Hurried, my eyes shifted around the room—scouring for my tasteless pills.

Dad greeted me.

Swallowed, it grounded me. Tired, my body plopped itself on to bed. 
 
Days passed, and my head cooled.

With car keys grasped, my footsteps stride outside, heading to mom’s house.

It was late afternoon. Out of my car, the doorway welcomed me. It was how it used to be.

“Mom? You home?” I rang the doorbell.

The door clicked.

“Carina?”

“Surprise?”

The air tensed, but mom led me to the dinner table.

They’re silent today. Mom seated.

“This concerns my boyfriend, isn’t it?”

My glance struck the floor, and voices murmured.

“We didn’t tell you,” mom clasped her hands, “since we weren’t ready,”

They were restless. Dad watched from the kitchen counter and a glint snared my eyes. Doubt welled inside me, like a tub overflowing with water. My mouth opened, but the words eluded me. With eyes closed, I glanced again. He’s gone.

But the glint sharper.

Mom snapped her fingers. “Honey, are you listening?”

My mind jumbled. The voices made it more painful to think, they’re darker, and flaring. Raging fire on fuel. My heart raced. Body stiffened.

Ding! Ding!

“Phone,” I said. “It’s ringing,”

Mom motioned her knuckles on her chin. She gazed at the phone, swiped the screen and looked at me—puzzled.

She ignored it. My hand snatched her phone, skimming her contacts.

“Honey!”

Didn’t mom fight with dad before he died?


“Mom,” my glare striking hers, “dad died because of you, didn’t he?”

Shocked, mom hurried towards me. “Honey! What are you saying?”

Voices wailed. Screamed. Shrieked. Blood rushed and euphoria surged my veins. Thoughts shuffled and merged with whispers and suspicion.

The balance scale tipped.

I shoved mom, a grin streaking my lips. My body dashed to the kitchen knife. Seized, the sharp blade pointed at her. 
With a tight grip, I slitted her windpipe—mom’s inaudible shrieks echoing in my ears. Mom gagged and choked, stumbling. Her eyes blackened in terror. Clothes smeared in blood.

Numb—mom’s struggle ceased. Seated on her, my knife stabbed her neck’s sides. Blood spurted and spilled—painting me red in murder.

Moments passed.

My face sunk in murder-guilty hands, tears gushing out my sullied-red and slender fingers with the pressure of torrential water crashing dams.

Dad’s here.

He held out his hand and his warmth reminded me—I needed it.

“Can I be with you again?”

Dad didn’t answer. He let go and walked out—leaving me again. It was dark out. Like that day. But now, he won’t leave me.

Later, under the moonlight on his grave.

We vanished.
 
Months passed, and there was a burial.

It was a scorching afternoon. Bodies phased past me amid the chattering crowd, regret tethering me. Sorry.