⚠︎︎TRIGGER WARNING⚠︎︎ ⚠︎︎Grief, mention of addiction and self-harm issues, memory of self-harm, sad, angst.⚠︎︎(Play your sad playlist again bitches) ☂︎︎ ☂︎︎ ☂︎︎ ☂︎︎ ☂︎︎
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"Y/n are you ready?" Spencer called from the bathroom, as I stared at myself in the mirror.
The traditional color for funerals is so dark, which is ridiculous considering people love to preach how funerals are celebrations of people's lives, yet everyone wears black, which is the most depressing color.
And if you think about it, technically black isn't even a fucking color, it's a shade, so when we wear black at a funeral we're just wearing a dark shade, which is shady as fuck.
Ok, shut up, my best friend just died, humour is not gonna be my strong point.
-Flashback-
"Do you ever think about your own funeral?" I asked James randomly.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" James chuckled.
"I was just thinking about my own funeral, and I want it to be depressing as fuck, and everyone who wears makeup has to wear really dark eyeshadow and eyeliner so that everyone can see who cries and who doesn't," I explained.
"There is something very wrong with you" James laughed hysterically.
"What?! I want to know who's gonna be sad" I giggled.
"You'll be dead" James pointed out holding his stomach, as he tried to calm himself down.
"I might not be, I might have faked my death, and if I have actually died, then you can see who's crying, and anyone who isn't crying, you have to beat them up."
"Y/n, I'm not beating anyone up." James sighed wiping the hysterical laughing tears from his cheeks.
"Then you're a terrible friend." You giggled.
"How about I terrorize them by sneaking into their houses and sticking up pictures of you all over their houses," James suggested.
"Yeah, that's fine. What about you? If someone doesn't cry, do you want me to beat them up?" I asked curiously.
"Bizarrely I'm not twisted like you, I wouldn't want people to cry at my funeral. I want people to be happy that I'm in a better place." James informed us.
