Crave For You

Sofia

The third funeral I attend in my life is ironically my mother's again. I could laugh or cry as per my choice. It's like God had fun giving me options. Sad for the old man in the sky, I choose to do nothing.

You can't cry twice for the death of one person. It is as unusual an event as a red moon out of fictional stories.

Funnily enough, it's a sunny day. Even the weather agrees with me. I came here because mama deserved a proper goodbye even if it was sans tears. After what happened this morning with Gabriel, I chose to spend the day out of the mansion. There are bodyguards along the boundary of the cemetery as they wait impatiently for me to finish my task.

They buried Antonio somewhere else as per my request. I didn't want him to be anywhere close to mama even after death.

I drop the mud on my mother's coffin with a lethargic move. Slapping away the dirt from my palms, I get up from my crouched position, facing the middle-aged Priest.

"Is that all?" I ask him in a curt tone, which makes the older man and Hayley look sideways like they are having an unsuspecting conversation.

The Priest clears his throat. "Have you never been to a funeral before, Miss Bianchi?" I nod at his question. "Then you should know it's not normal to not shed a single tear for your mother."

"I don't know, Father," I scoff. "I was too busy crying the first time."

The man looks on perplexed as his eyes bounce between the coffin and me. "Wasn't she your mother?"

"Yes," I pause, stressing the word and taking sadistic pleasure in the slight moment of confusion that takes over his expression. "—and it just happens to be her second funeral."

His blue eyes widen at the reveal as he mutters, "I don't understand."

"It's cute that you assume I do." I roll my eyes. "I'm as puzzled by the miracle of life as you, Father. It doesn't fascinate me."

His lips press thin. "Death can be a beautiful thing, Miss Bianchi."

"Death is sad," I say. "It's not beautiful. It's not silent. It's not a good topic for poetry. Do not justify it, Father."

Hayley holds me by my arm, squeezing. "Sofia," she whispers in my ear. "You're scaring Father Norman."

I catch her gaze in my periphery, then take in Father Norman's horrified stare.

"Pardon me, Father." I give him a low curtsy, winking. "I have always been a sinner."

***

"You're donating all of these?"

"I have no use for them."

"That's like the whole mansion." Hayley's lips twist as she takes an account of all the carton boxes packed across the floor of my old bedroom. "What about keeping some for memories? Aren't you afraid of losing them?"

Depositing the photo album on top of an unpacked carton, still filled with loiters of my past, I smile at her. "Happy memories are worth keeping." I wave my finger around the boxes, feeling a sense of satisfaction looking at their packed numbers. "These aren't worth keeping."

Hayley mutters a 'hmm' under her breath before bending down to pick up an old diary. I don't stop her as she flips through the pages, her eyes barely concentrating on the words as she scans its contents. It's an old diary where I used to scribble my thoughts. I stopped keeping a personal diary after Dante's 'death' (can I still call it that?).

Now, it stores pages of a girl who no longer exists. The child writing those words used to be happier. My life, on the other hand, is as catastrophic as the Dead Sea.