The Mind Killer

They marched along the path. Left, right, left, right. Bum, bum-bum came the beat of the drums. Crying people wiped away their tears, and held black umbrellas steadily in one hand.
Passing gravestones have tears. No. The rain is just running through the calligraphic words which form names. Madison. Kiley. Jeffey. We lost you the angels will watch after you love you love mommy and daddy. The words run together. All the memories of the families that lost a loved one come to me.
I can't control it. People just think I have fainting spells. I know it's not normal. I know I'm not normal. I don't know what to do.
I look beside me. A little black-haired girl, maybe about 3, catches up to me and clutches my hand. She looks ahead. She knows funeral etiquette. No smiling. No laughing. No joking.
We're up to the grave of the dead person. The parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins all sit together clasping hands. An old lady, maybe the dead guy's mother, bends her head, maybe praying. Half of her brownish-gray hair falls in her face. She doesn't move it. She just sits there.
Usually all the little kids of this small town run and play. But they know this is not a park. This is not a time to play. This is the time to mourn the loss of a townsperson.
Everyone in town goes to these funerals. It's just a family type thing. This whole town is a "family." It's really not. We just call it one.
The little girl stops and shakes her head. Don't go any further.
Joseph Tarik Macon. 10 years old. Beloved son.
No one knows how he died. I guess his heart just... Well, you know. Stopped. The real family said that his siblings put pictures in his casket. They probably did. Pictures of horses, dogs, cats, turtles, fish, birds. He liked animals. His best friend was me. I may be 6 years older, but he needed a friend. So I was there. I can't necessarily say that I was friends with him. But he was friends with me. That makes one friend. And now he's dead.

I am Ally, and I think I am a psychic.