Starlight

07|| chapel

melancholy :a feeling of pensive sadness

Bruises -Lewis Calpadi

LEO VASQUEZ

The funeral was being held at a small, quaint chapel in the middle of Ravenwood, the small town that I'd lived in before leaving my grandmother behind. It was a decision I regretted, as it led her straight to her grave.

A small flicker of light shone through the stained windows of the chapel and interrupted the darkness that had been coating the skies this whole day. My shoes were spotted with the small flickers of rain from earlier, when I'd walked into a room full of strangers. There were a few familiar faces, but most of the people filling the pews didn't care about Sarah and were here for the sentiment that came with it.

Sitting in the front pew meant I was able to give my back to everyone else and simmer in my own thoughts. I still couldn't shake off the gut feeling that this was simply the beginning of the bloodshed. There was security strategically placed around the premises; nothing about today could go wrong.

Zoning out, I focus on my grandmother's lifeless body displayed in a white casket a few feet away from me. The casket was open, and I could see the freckles she had always hated scattered around the bridge of her nose. Normally, they were barely visible, but against her pale skin, it was like a splatter of paint.

Failure was among the many emotions coursing through me at the sight, but I didn't have the time to revel in it as I got up and began positioning myself to raise the casket.

Walking aimlessly towards it, someone walks straight into my chest, and I can already tell who it is, even in my half-there state.

My arms gently manoeuvre her away from my chest so she isn't eye level with the buttons of my white shirt.

"I'm sorry for your loss,Leo." Zelia stammered nervously.

I knew I looked like death, but I didn't think it was that bad that she had to stammer through her words with a look of pity.

It could've been pity or sympathy; I couldn't tell as I nodded, hoping it could convey how I didn't want to talk.

The irony of me being a pallbearer was like having a cold bucket of water poured over me as I mulled over how all of this ultimately could've been avoided if I'd stopped all contact with my grandmother.

I figured it out yesterday, after Zelia had left and the water diluted the alcohol I had drank, that my infrequent and spontaneous visits over the years to see her were how they were able to trace her.

The flight tickets from before I had splurged on a plane weren't easy to find because I had to try to cover my tracks, but nonetheless, they were still accessible. The paper trail had led them straight to the small town that I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of.

Apart from the freshly dug grave, the rest of the graveyard where she lay was dotted with headstones. It was the 36-square-metre plot that belonged to the Denvers that I was interested in.

My mother wasn't buried here, as she preferred her ashes to be spread by the small river that snaked through the town. The inscription on the headstone was a Bible quote about the importance of family that Sarah had specifically picked out.

For someone who wasn't supposed to die, she had the event planned out down to even the most minute details, such as what instrument she wanted playing during the ceremony. It was hard to find a violinist willing to travel to these remote parts, but I guess the right price was enough to convince him.

Taking a few steps backward, I counted to three and remembered I had to push this behind me if I wanted them to survive.

Truthfully,I don't  remember when I started crying or when I stopped as I said a final goodbye.

Wiping the tears I had shed,I began walking back to the family house on the outskirts of Ravenwood. We moved to the modest three-bedroom Victorian house when I was eight, and until the age of eighteen, it was the only place I had called home.

Home was less of a physical concept but rather a bundle of positive feelings and sappy emotional warmth. Warmth created by the security blanket tucked in tight around you by supposed guardians. Once that thin blanket is yanked off you, the only feeling you have rattling through your bones is emptiness that can't be filled no matter how hard you try.

The gate groaned as I pushed it open and walked up the path towards the front door. A purple flower in the pot on the windowsill grew determinedly despite it being mid-winter and not having anyone take care of it.

Picking it up, I looked under to grab the spare keys that my grandmother suggested were useful to have.

However,the only thing that graced my fingertips was dust.

Confused, I pushed the door open and, surprisingly, didn't meet any resistance.

Did they somehow follow me here as well?

I prayed that wasn't the case. I just wanted to take a shower and nap instead of dealing with unwanted trouble.

Placing my hand on the gun in my pocket, I walked through the hallway and made sure I checked my surroundings for anything out of sorts. Taking a left, I walked into the living room, and it was exactly how I left it earlier, except there was a stubborn woman in a black dress and heels, which I vaguely remember from the funeral.

Zelia was curled up in a ball in the corner of the brown sofa that could've belonged in the early 1900s.

Sarah always had a liking for vintage furniture and stamp collecting. Stepping into the room felt like being transported into a time capsule, as I admired the book of stamps on the table Grandma had probably left there before she fell asleep that night.

My gaze returned to the sleeping figure, who was snoring softly.

You would think someone couldn't snore that quietly, but as I walked a little closer, I could attest that Zelia had to be the most quiet snorer I've seen in my life.

Her hair was up in a bun, with the exception of two braids that had some gold hair rings looped in. The air seemed tainted with her vanilla scent, and her multitude of bags were placed against the wall.

The number of bags she had made it seem like she was on a one-way trip to fucking New Zealand, not a mere day trip to England.

Tapping my hand against the wall, I debated waking her up.

I wasn't surprised that Zelia managed to get in. When we were younger, she would always come around when we were visiting from boarding school; she knew where Grandma kept the keys.

What I didn't understand was why she felt the need to invade my space today of all days.

Finally making a decision, I turn around and climb up the stairs towards my old bedroom.

I'd take a shower and kick her out on my way out of here.

I wasn't staying here in this small town a day longer than needed.

★

a/n
It's starting to get cold outside and I'm so excited for winter season to officially start.

also thoughts so far?