Status: One/One, comments, love?
Caroline
One/One
The smell of cleaning fabric...the feel of the rough dark purple carpet under my shoes...a piano playing a soft, heart-wrenching piece, Kleenex sat in small, unopened, plastic packages on a table with a soft pink table cloth. The air was thick, dry, and extremely tense as hearts fluttered and sobs echoed off of the large walls.
A church. No, a funeral. Black covered every inch of every single body lining the rows of cushioned seats.
Tick-tick, tick-tock. A ticking clock caught my attention, tearing my gaze away from the silver casket. Eleven o'clock. One more hour. One more hour until I would be forced up there, to say goodbye to her forever, my best friend, Caroline. I knew what would happen, my gut would twist, my feet would drag the long red rug, my hair would hang in my face, covering my tears like a curtain...and then, then I would burst out sobbing, thinking of Caroline's death. No, Caroline's suicide.
I would think of the long-sleeved shirt, and the long, jagged, gashes, and the smaller ones I never bothered to notice in the past that were lining behind on her four-arms, even her legs.
Tick-tick, tick-tock. I tour my gaze away from the young man standing at the casket, and looked at the clock again. Eleven-ten. Fifty minutes until that would me me up there, replacing the man, and slipping the rose I had picked into her fingers. Rose was her favorite flower, she said it reminded her that there was hope. Was hope... My back hit the far wall as I began to back up. My finger brushed up the rose stem, pricking it on a thorn, and thinking of the day she told me she wanted to die...I looked at the rose petals as I remembered how my best friend told me that the world we lived in was hopeless, and when she looked at a rose, she could smile. She could smile, because it was one of the only beautiful, natural, romantic plants left.
Tick-tick, tick-tock. I looked back at the clock, and tears filled my gaze. Eleven-thirty.
I couldn't do this...not now. I rolled the rose in my hands, and I gasped in horror as a petal fell off. The flower was wilting. My best friend's favorite flower was wilting. A tear slid down my cheek as I risked another glance at Caroline. Her long, lushes, white-blond hair flowed over the casket slightly, and I could see her face, pail and doll-like with two much cover-up and blush. Not my Caroline...never again my Caroline...
Tick-tick, tick-tick. Eleven-fifty. Another minute, another tear, another petal off Caroline's flower, and onto the purple carpet. Another minute, another memory, another stab in the gut, more unbearable sobs. I sobbed until everyone in the rows turned and stared.
Tick-tick, tick-tick. Eleven-fifty-five. Everyone was staring, everyone. All of the morning family members and friends gave pity to the teenage girl kneeling on the floor, attempting to hold in her sobs, her hands her bleeding, rose-thorns implanted. The girl has lost her grace, her tears everywhere, as she once thought of her Caroline. The peppy, down to earth girl she had grown up with, and hoped to grow old with. God, how I wished that girl wasn't me.
Tick-tick, tick-tick...dong, dong, dong. twelve times. Noon. Caroline's mother attempted to scoot me up to her, after I had the strength to stand on my own. I shrugged her arms off, and ran. I may have had the strength to stand, but not stand up to Caroline's casket.
A closet, a church closet. I shoved the coats and dresses aside, and made a cocoon, right smack-dab in the middle of that small closet. The air was stuffy, and it was extremely hard to breath, but I paid no attention. I lay for minutes, possibly hours, long lost in thought, long lost in Caroline, before the door was pulled open.
"The service is about to start, let me help you up." The voice was gentle, the man, from before, the one standing at the casket. I gave him my arm and he helped me sit up. He was younger than I thought. Twenty or so, with sandy blond hair, in a skater style.
As I stood up, coats fell all over the rugs, and I had grabbed the rose that had been dropped, and took a shaky step forward. We walked up together. Me and this stranger, he never moved his hand from my four-arm, and, as we approached the casket, his grip loosened, and he took a step back, and stood behind as a deep breath entered my body, and a beautiful red rose was placed between Carolines delicate fingers.
When the funeral was over, the man drove me back home. A few months later, a kiss from the man, Maxwell, Max or Maxie for short.
When my best friend ended her life, she began mine. Perhaps she knew that, perhaps not. But in that small, stuffy church closet in the middle of Carolines funeral, I met the person who would take Carolines place, and grow old with me.
A few years later, a ring appeared on my finger, red, red like a rose.After that? A baby, a healthy baby girl. Long, white-blond hair and baby-blue eyes. You know what? I named her Caroline.
A church. No, a funeral. Black covered every inch of every single body lining the rows of cushioned seats.
Tick-tick, tick-tock. A ticking clock caught my attention, tearing my gaze away from the silver casket. Eleven o'clock. One more hour. One more hour until I would be forced up there, to say goodbye to her forever, my best friend, Caroline. I knew what would happen, my gut would twist, my feet would drag the long red rug, my hair would hang in my face, covering my tears like a curtain...and then, then I would burst out sobbing, thinking of Caroline's death. No, Caroline's suicide.
I would think of the long-sleeved shirt, and the long, jagged, gashes, and the smaller ones I never bothered to notice in the past that were lining behind on her four-arms, even her legs.
Tick-tick, tick-tock. I tour my gaze away from the young man standing at the casket, and looked at the clock again. Eleven-ten. Fifty minutes until that would me me up there, replacing the man, and slipping the rose I had picked into her fingers. Rose was her favorite flower, she said it reminded her that there was hope. Was hope... My back hit the far wall as I began to back up. My finger brushed up the rose stem, pricking it on a thorn, and thinking of the day she told me she wanted to die...I looked at the rose petals as I remembered how my best friend told me that the world we lived in was hopeless, and when she looked at a rose, she could smile. She could smile, because it was one of the only beautiful, natural, romantic plants left.
Tick-tick, tick-tock. I looked back at the clock, and tears filled my gaze. Eleven-thirty.
I couldn't do this...not now. I rolled the rose in my hands, and I gasped in horror as a petal fell off. The flower was wilting. My best friend's favorite flower was wilting. A tear slid down my cheek as I risked another glance at Caroline. Her long, lushes, white-blond hair flowed over the casket slightly, and I could see her face, pail and doll-like with two much cover-up and blush. Not my Caroline...never again my Caroline...
Tick-tick, tick-tick. Eleven-fifty. Another minute, another tear, another petal off Caroline's flower, and onto the purple carpet. Another minute, another memory, another stab in the gut, more unbearable sobs. I sobbed until everyone in the rows turned and stared.
Tick-tick, tick-tick. Eleven-fifty-five. Everyone was staring, everyone. All of the morning family members and friends gave pity to the teenage girl kneeling on the floor, attempting to hold in her sobs, her hands her bleeding, rose-thorns implanted. The girl has lost her grace, her tears everywhere, as she once thought of her Caroline. The peppy, down to earth girl she had grown up with, and hoped to grow old with. God, how I wished that girl wasn't me.
Tick-tick, tick-tick...dong, dong, dong. twelve times. Noon. Caroline's mother attempted to scoot me up to her, after I had the strength to stand on my own. I shrugged her arms off, and ran. I may have had the strength to stand, but not stand up to Caroline's casket.
A closet, a church closet. I shoved the coats and dresses aside, and made a cocoon, right smack-dab in the middle of that small closet. The air was stuffy, and it was extremely hard to breath, but I paid no attention. I lay for minutes, possibly hours, long lost in thought, long lost in Caroline, before the door was pulled open.
"The service is about to start, let me help you up." The voice was gentle, the man, from before, the one standing at the casket. I gave him my arm and he helped me sit up. He was younger than I thought. Twenty or so, with sandy blond hair, in a skater style.
As I stood up, coats fell all over the rugs, and I had grabbed the rose that had been dropped, and took a shaky step forward. We walked up together. Me and this stranger, he never moved his hand from my four-arm, and, as we approached the casket, his grip loosened, and he took a step back, and stood behind as a deep breath entered my body, and a beautiful red rose was placed between Carolines delicate fingers.
When the funeral was over, the man drove me back home. A few months later, a kiss from the man, Maxwell, Max or Maxie for short.
When my best friend ended her life, she began mine. Perhaps she knew that, perhaps not. But in that small, stuffy church closet in the middle of Carolines funeral, I met the person who would take Carolines place, and grow old with me.
A few years later, a ring appeared on my finger, red, red like a rose.After that? A baby, a healthy baby girl. Long, white-blond hair and baby-blue eyes. You know what? I named her Caroline.
♠ ♠ ♠
For a contest, my word was zeta - small room or closet in a church =-)