Cruelty Wears the Guise of Fear
The funerals were over, and the last of the mourners had trailed away. They would go home, where food and drinks and lighter conversation awaited them. Catharsis. They all craved it, and laughter seemed the inevitable aftermath of a funeral. They'd wanted her to come with them, had wanted to hang around with her, anxious, sensitive to the fact that her pain were greater than anything they could feel. She'd wanted to stay, she'd wanted to be alone. Catharsis seemed too unrealistic a goal right now. She closed her eyes, plugged her headphones in and sat cross legged, leaning against the cemetery wall. Far enough away from the graves that distance would be felt, but still close - too close. It was hard to say how much time had passed - certainly the song had played itself in its loop quite a few times - when she felt something scuttle across her fingers. She hated insects. Wasn't used to them, hadn't grown up with them, was creeped out by most of them. She wait...