A Most Somber Affair (Memorial)

[alexandra walker]

It was surreal - the coffin, her boyfriend... A shiver went down her spine.

Her hand twitched as she felt Connor's warm touch. She looked back up to him, nodding once more. Even if he couldn't utter any words, she knew his intentions. They had both been close to Ben. The tragedy had cost them both a great deal. Her eyes wandered, locking on Eloise and Calliope. Instinctively, her free hand rested on Eloise's shoulder. The two were not exactly friends, but she knew how much Ben liked her. She leaned forward, forcing a smile.

"Hi... mm," Alex started plainly, "I'm glad - it's... It's good to see you guys." She could feel the hoarseness in her throat as she choked back her tears. Her heart was sinking. A tremendous weight strained her shoulders.

"Ben would have been - he would be glad you came." She stated tentatively. Her voice strained and her smile trembled. She retracted her hand, resting it against her shaky leg. Today, the emotional suffering was the worst. Who could have done this to her beloved boyfriend? He was a terrible person at times, but she knew that deep inside, he was kind. He showed her that side of him. The thoughts were painful. She didn't want to break down in the middle of the funeral. No, she wanted to be strong. Alex had to steel herself. However, that steely resolve was nearly impossible while staring at her boyfriend's casket.

She shot a desperate look to the exit. It was too late to leave. Soon, everyone would cry as the preacher talked about how Ben was with God, and how he was in a better place. Part of this felt... immoral. She was going to listen to some man tell her that all was good. He was up in Heaven. Bullshit. Her boyfriend was murdered.

She winced. The idea alone was painful. Now, staring at the casket, she had no choice but to accept it.

How would she be able to focus in school? It started in a single week. People would still be talking. Rumors. Shit-talking. She would have to sit and listen to these people talk offensively about her deceased boyfriend. Alex knew how each class would go. The idea was incredibly sickening. Teachers will give them a sermon on him, all while staring directly at her. She'll hear some punk talking negatively about him in the back row, and someone nearby will hush them and remind them Alex was in the room.

She closed her eyes and attempted to regain her composure. It was almost time to begin. She just had to keep herself together until it was over.

[Deleted]

There’s a low murmur of forlorn whispers that reverberate through the unbarred tawny architecture and the taciturn sound of anguish welling up in already bleary and bone-weary rose raw throats and eyes. They could bleed and bleed their spirits out on the hard granite floor but nothing would change the death cradle casket which encased their beloved, lulled forever into his rooted sleep, hands withered and lain tenderly across his abdomen. He would be in a suit, his best suit, or maybe one borrowed from a relative, his handsome features still like meticulously carved marble greek statue (cold, too), with eyes shut arduously at the hand of the mortician. There was something startlingly unkind about the sight of the dead, and because of this Atticus was glad to see the closed casket. It gave Ben a sense of privacy. It, however, did not quell his wayward mind, or his overwrought stomach.

He had hardly made it a foot within the nave before turning quickly on his heels. Atticus was neither fond of death nor of churches, especially in these kind of unfortunate circumstances. That, and losing ones lunch in church somehow seemed like it would be an insult and demerit to it’s holy framework. Because of this, Atticus had frantically searched through corridor and clearance for the mens room, a haven of sorts, with an impending sense of imminence borne on his shoulders. When he did finally find it(or, at least, a restroom) through the maze of sunday school hallways lined with crayola abominations, he made sure to deadlock the door before hurling into a porcelain toilet that was probably three times too small for any full grown adult.

There was of course a tiny sink to match aforementioned tiny toilet, and while Atticus washed up he had to lean down on one knee. Straightening up, his face now dripping wet, he stared at the teenager in the reflection, a foreign strange face. He looked unwell with small bursted blood vessels forming around his forehead and eyes, though barely noticeable amongst his freckled complexion. The whites of his eyes had turned a delicate shade of sleepless blush, complimented only by the deep set circles forming beneath them. Again, he leaned down, and splashed more water on his face. What he saw when he looked up again was nothing short of disturbing.

It wasn’t ethereal in nature what so ever. What he saw was Ben- but it wasn’t Ben! It couldn’t be the boy who laid out in the casket. Ben, flanking his right, standing there with his familiar arrogant simper, his self-assured demeanor that, in the reflection of the mirror, was nearly tangible. Beneath the fluorescent lights he was of course paler than usual, or perhaps he was actually indeed paler because he was dead… but no! He was dead. To the rational man, entertaining the idea that it was indeed him was absolutely ludicrous. And so, when Atticus turns to confront this ghastly sighting he confirms what he feared most- that Ben was of course not actually there, and Atticus was likely going absolutely insane. Dizzied with the hairs on his neck still standing on end, he leaves the bathroom.

When he returns, visually unkept, he finally joins his peers, wordlessly taking the remaining seat besides Eloise, fishing through his pockets for a small tin can of coveted altoids. He glances down the pew. Besides Eloise there was another girl- one whose name he couldn’t remember despite his excellent memory, so it was safe to assume that the two had never met. Behind them he can hear Alex, Ben’s girlfriend, speaking, who while they lived in the same neighborhood he was certain that she was unwitting of his existence. Then of course there was Connor, who was relatively close to being the antithesis of Atticus. Needless to say, Atticus felt a bit like a sore thumb in the bunch, but it was not an uncommon sentiment in his life.

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[silas lindstrom]

Silas watched as family after family filed into the room, until the chapel began to feel a bit muffled and stuffy. He knew “small town” didn't necessarily mean “hick rural nosy neighbors”, but, in the year he'd lived in Ashwick, he figured he'd met a wide enough variety of people through teaching their children. Nevertheless, looking around, he could only recognize about half of the people in the room.

It occurred to him, then, to wonder about Ben's life previous to the year Silas had been present. Of course, Ben had spoken about school and told general stories about general things, but had Ben lived somewhere else and moved to Ashwick, just as Silas had? He'd never thought to ask, and it would hardly be appropriate now. Anyway, it would explain the volume of unknown people present, especially since none of them seemed to bother associating with those he knew to be citizens of Ashwick.

Feeling uneasy about the whole business, but strengthened by the presence of friends, Silas rose before looking toward Oliver. “I'm going to go... uh, yeah. Pay my respects,” he announced in a half-whisper. He wouldn't mind if Oliver came along, would in fact welcome it, but he certainly wasn't going to ask; he felt weird enough about the situation without requesting for a chaperone. He made his way down the center aisle towards the coffin. He stopped a few feet shy of it, and a group of mourners sitting on the bench to his right stared at him accusingly as if to say, 'What are you doing here?' Silas spared them only the barest of glances. If he focused too long on their disapproval, he would probably chicken out. And he needed to spend a moment focusing on Ben, and not the other superfluous people in the room.

Silas turned his body away from them, focusing instead on the monument before him. The painful sinking feeling he'd experienced earlier seized him again, but it was bearable enough this time. He knew this probably shouldn't affect him so badly, but that casket reminded him so much of his brother's funeral. A church filled with people who he'd never even met, and Matt's casket closed, with only a grinning picture to remember him by. 'Remember Matt as he was,' his mother had instructed at the time, voice cracking as she dabbed her eyes repeatedly. Silas found the phrasing insulting; the fact that there was a “was” tied to Matt's life made it unable to be forgotten. And why should it be? Silas had long believed that death was the surest way to teach the living a lesson. Death made mothers fearsome defenders of their children; Death made survivors fight to live another day. Death made teenage boys go straight home from school, never straying an inch from the path lest they meet the same fate as their brother: sealed in a coffin, the cavernous room filled with echoing sniffles and sombre organ tunes. Death may not be an event to dwell on, but neither was it something that could be pushed to the wayside like an irritating child. Regardless of the true reasons for Ben's demise, there were lessons to be learned from it. The trouble was, until there was some sort of consensus from the police, there was no way of knowing what sort of lesson that was.

Silas stood there, his eyes tracing across the abundant bouquet, the gilded lining of the coffin, the rich mahogany finish that gleamed in the light from the high windows, and the photo of Ben, resting on what looked like a rickety easel. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching as the air ruffled the leaves of the flowers. Having seen and faced the grim symbol of Ben's death, Silas turned and walked away toward his seat.

Deep in thought, he almost missed Maryann, who was sitting alone in the pew and not really looking herself at all. She looked small and shriveled, her arms wrapped tightly around her as if she were trying to diminish herself to occupy as little space as possible. It was a stark contrast to her usual quirky charm, and Silas felt compelled to at least speak to her for a few moments.

He shifted his feet for a moment before greeting her quietly. “Hello Maryann,” Silas ventured, his statement emerging more like a question. He had to stop himself from tacking on his customary 'how are you?' because that would be stupid in the extreme. However, he didn't have much else to say, and the two of them weren't friends or anything so he couldn't really comfort her. Therefore, he instantly regretted his choice to talk to her.

[eloise darmody]

”Hopefully not. “ Eloise answered with a sad smile, she and Connor were bonded in a way that no one else in the church understood, which was one of the reasons he had become such a close friend - her best friend. He got it. She had turned back around, understanding why he declined coming to sit next to her, when she heard Alex’s voice and felt her hand on her shoulder. Eloise turned back again, ”Hi Alex.” she responded, her voice soft in the church.

Eloise listened intently as the girl spoke, knowing that as hard as this was for her, it was probably harder for Alex. ”Wouldn’t have missed it.” Ellie responded, her voice sad. She turned back, away from Alex and faced front again. She wanted to be there for Alex, but it was hard. It was just so hard, she might have had more time with Ben if it weren’t for Alex. That wasn’t to say she was mad, or angry at the other girl, she was just sad that all of this had played out in the manner it had.

She didn’t even hear Atticus approach, but when he slid in to the pew she sighed in relief. Atticus. Scooting closer to him, so her leg just brushed against his, Eloise stared up at him for a long moment, noticing that he didn’t look good at all. ”Are you ok?” She questioned him, watching as he fished out a tin of altoids. ”You just look like you had a rough morning is all.” Eloise continued on, her attention still focused on Atticus.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Lindstrom approach the coffin. Eloise knew that there would be other people who also stepped forward to pay their respects in that manner. Though she had no desire to do so. She had seen enough death, touched enough coffins and felt no need to further cement her memory of Ben with these symbols.

[maryann hastings]

The air in the place was practically suffocating Maryann didn't know how much more of it she could take. She kept telling herself that it was all for his sake and to mourn the loss of a bright student. Though they had not always agreed on everything he was still a favored of her students to say the least. Maryann was heartbroken and saddened. There had been so much loss in her life lately and yet she couldn't focus on anything other than the thought of how horrible it must be for his parents.

Silently her hand drew her handkerchief to wipe just beneath her eyes. Looking over her shoulder toward the entrance of the building. Watching her former student's parents as they greeted those who gave their condolences. Whether sincere or not she was glad for any who had the respect to show up regardless. So long as they respected the service and the people there. Maybe once this ceremony was over the town could slowly fall back into normality.

Normality...What was even normal anymore? One of the town's treasures had been murdered and the thought of that alone made her nervous. When would the investigation truly begin? Where they doing enough to find out who his murderer is and if they weren't why not? Maryann turned her gaze away from the couple at the doorway and back toward the front. Her hands twisting that fabric between her aged fingers. Growing lost in her own thoughts, in her own worries, and her own hopes for the well being of the reset of her students. What if this wasn't a one time deal? What if someone was going to hurt others? She had to keep an eye out for her students. She couldn't bare anymore loss.

From that small distance she noticed another of her students, atticus, the poor boy was probably having a harder time making sense of this mess and how to deal with it than the others. She wondered what was going on in his head and if he'd be okay through it all as well. This world was falling apart and it was bringing her down in chains with it.

She had no sooner begun to shrink into herself, those arms hugged about her as her only true comfort, then Silias' familiar voice reached her. For a moment she looked as if she could have melted right of her skin at the sound of her own name. She stared at the man with an expression that told of her words being stolen from her tongue, something quite odd for Maryann herself, but after a few moments of awkward silence she would manage them again. "Hello Silas. " there she had managed it, but what would she say now?

"I'll be fine. " she spoke then. What else could she say? She was certain the only reason he'd spoken to her was because of how odd she was behaving, she was no fool, but it was something she had to give him respect for. Regardless of having much to speak of with him. "Will you be as well?"