Number 5 of 25

“By the time you had milked out your life, which was as quick as we all had suspected it to be, we booked your funeral for the following week that April. We put an obituary in the paper, but didn’t quite know what to say about you; we felt bad, but in our defense you really were a mysterious woman and rarely spoke about yourself. We couldn’t quite feel a connection to you because of this, but you were always nice to us so we always suspected you had a good heart. Maybe you had a terrible heart, but we never asked about that and if you lived as long as us we probably never would anyway. You were a boring person to us: you read books all day and drank beer while you did it. You kept a chess set in your room and always played it by yourself in the afternoon. And we never figured out when you slept because you always went for long walks at night and most nights didn’t return until the sun came up. What stumped us most about you was the way that boys fell in love with you as if you were named People’s most beautiful woman on Earth (which you certainly weren’t). The only people that showed up to your funeral were us, and every single man that you ever crushed. We never saw so many crying men before, and we thought you must have had something that we overlooked or dismissed. We had to remember all your strange habits again just to try to figure out what made all the men so sad for you but we only reached on the unanimous conclusion that you were an eccentric girl and you were too quiet. We had never seen so many roses piled on a coffin before. And while you were being lowered to the ground we heard a man behind us say, “She would have hated this, it’s not raining.” It was a beautiful day to leave the world, but the men with the broken hearts decided for you that your coffin should not be lowered until it rained. It did not rain for weeks, and then months; that summer we had the worst drought of the century. We stopped waiting for the rain to throw dirt over your coffin, in fact, we forgot about your burial for almost a full year. But when we finally went to fill in the hole, we discovered that there wasn’t any room for it anyway- the whole six feet was filled with roses and teardrops. Dirt was never thrown over your body, and I don’t know about the other girls, but all I could think about was how it must have looked through your eyes- at the bottom of your grave and seeing nothing but roses, roses, roses roses


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