Mourn the living first.There is no "proper" way to act at a stranger's funeral, save for maybe not showing up in the first place.Mourn the living first. by ~BladeBites
It was with this in mind that I walked into the ballroom among the whispers and black formal attire, heads turning in my direction with every step I took. You see, I was wearing a suit, but this was no ordinary suit for a funeral. Oh no, this tuxedo, along with everything else I was wearing, was whiter than the dead man's complexion. White was a much better color for funerals, I thought. Black is dark, mysterious, and to be completely honest, life holds more mystery than any death I'd ever heard of. As much as humanity may wish it, there is nothing mysterious about death, because there is nothing interesting about it except hopeful gibberish about an afterlife. And tell me, if he was in some sort of glorious heaven, "in a better place" some would say, then what was anyone crying for? What a shame it would be if someone were to admit that most of the tears shed were not for the dea
RoyalsThe second I walk through the door, the sound of cheerful chatter and classical music drowns out my request to stay in the car. I examine the ballroom, noisy and busy with good times. Black and white suits twirl blobs of colored fabric that must be women around a sparkling golden floor, and somewhere in the back a band plays sophisticated music. A glittering chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and I'm sure it's beautiful and expensive despite not being able to look directly at it without hurting my eyes.Royals by ~BladeBites
"I don't want to be here," I growl at Lock, who stands beside me in an elegant black tuxedo, eyes fixed on married and wealthy ladies. He wears the suit better than I do.
"Quit your whining. You've been grumbling since you got in the car."
"I don't want to be here."
"Damn it, Sleepy, give me one night. One goddamn night."
I can't find it in me to protest. His pleading tone and the use of the nickname only he addresses me with suck the fight out of me like a vacuum. I dart my eyes
I wanted to know if she believed in magic.It was snowing, and I did my best not to look at the ground. The snow flakes were graceful when in the air, beautiful and charming, swirling and dancing with the wind and leaving invisible paths across the clear night sky. There were stars sprinkled above, but I couldn't be bothered to care; the snowflakes outshone them. If I were to glance at the ground, I would be heartbroken. I couldn't bear to see the murky brown mess they became once they reached their resting place. The snow was the only thing to admire in this fucking city.I wanted to know if she believed in magic. by ~BladeBites
The snowflakes, and her.
I'd caught a glimpse of her by a traffic light downtown, across the street where I had been standing. The bright red splash of her scarf against the dreary gray of our surroundings caught my eye, and I made it my resolve to ask for her name. I observed her for roughly five minutes, watched her twirl her dark hair between her gloved fingers. She never took her eyes off of the traffic light, and I thought I saw her smile briefly once wh