prolog ; silence

The sky was unusually tranquil this morning.

In the middle of September, rain should be pouring all day, all night long. Wet days were to be expected, storm was to be welcomed. But today it was oddly out of all the usualness. The day was peaceful, filled with earthly scent left by yesterday’s rain, embraced in the gloomy light from the pallid sun. Dark, the cloud above was dark and deathly, but it brought neither rain nor thunder. The vast canvas overhead was a photograph of loneliness, a snapshot of sadness as it witnessed this sorrowful event.

Cold wind, hot breath, bleak heart.

Muted prayers.

The girl in dark attire was standing alone behind rows of people. Black dress, black stockings, black gloves, black hair hanging like curtains on both sides of her ghastly face. It would be easy to mistake her as some kind of angel of death with her presence in this silent graveyard. No, she was not. She was here to attend this desolate funeral of her loved one.

Anima eius, et ánimæ ómnium fidélium defunctórum, per misericórdiam Dei requiéscant in pace. May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.

 A woman in fifty approached her after the funeral was finished. The girl stared at a face as pale as hers, a pair of swollen eyes, red nose. The woman hugged her briefly, muttered sorry and thank you in shaking voice. She remained still, every inch of her body were numb as the woman gave her light pecks on cheeks with her cold lips.

“Don’t worry, Darling. You still have us, we will never leave you. You’ll be our daughter, like always.” The voice came out from that woman was a hoarse one, pained one. The girl could easily taste the bitterness, the remorse there like she had tasted in her own voice.

“Yes. Thank you, Aunty.”

Lies. Everything would never be the same like always anymore. Everything has changed.     

 She was still in her black clothes, although she had left the cemetery four hours ago. Now she was standing in her apartment, stared blankly at the wooden door of the room across her own room. She reached for the knob and breathed deeply, then slowly opened it.

The room was still in the same condition when she came home that night. Books on the floors, clothes scattered on the bed, unfolded blankets. The air was stuffy and moldy, made it difficult to breathe. Her nos