The Trapped

26

26

- S U T T E R -

11.10.16 // 8:46 a.m.

I HAVE ALWAYS hated funerals. I hated the people there who gave you solemn expressions, as if they actually cared. I hated the traditional color of black and how everyone had to wear it. I hated the one obnoxious little boy who would cry the entire service because he didn't know what was going on.

I hated it all.

But here I am, dressed in my black buttoned-down shirt, one of Blaire's favorites, and black khakis.

The warm brown casket gleams from the early morning light that is shining through the cathedral windows. It was expertly crafted, just for Blaire. It was built to not bring comfort to the departed, but to soothe the living who is so devastated by her death.

But the thing is, no one knew the real Blaire. They saw the fake mask she would put on every morning, in hopes of getting admiration from everyone she met.

They didn't know the Blaire that was no make-up and goofy and totally relaxed and content with being herself. I knew that Blaire. And that's the Blaire I fell in love with.

Mrs. Hawthorn is sitting on the first pew. She isn't crying, like a mother who has lost her first and only child would do, but she sits calmly with her hands in her lap and her facial expression blank.

Victoria is sitting by me, silent sobs shaking her whole body. She leans her head on my shoulder, her blonde hair tickling my neck slightly.

The priest invites everyone up to view the body that is laying stock-still in the beautifully crafted casket. I couldn't bring myself to move.

People are taking their sweet time admiring Blaire's pale body, but what is there to admire anymore? She's gone.

A tear slips from my eye and lands on my shirt. That's all that falls, just one tear. I didn't feel sad or angry, not even confused. I felt nothing.

Sarah Longthorn taps me on my shoulder with her bony finger and I turn slightly to look down at her.

"I think you should go see her," she tells me softly with a small smile, a friendly gesture. I shake my head and run a hand through my hair, feeling her eyes bore into the side of my face. "I really think you should go see her."

The slight change in her voice makes me snap my head to the side to look at her, but she is gone, lost in the crowd of unwavering people. I slowly make my way to the front, pushing past people who have their head bowed down in attempt to show respect.

Blaire is wearing a floral printed dress, the one she wore on one of our first dates two years ago. My heart sinks at the memory. The front part of the casket is closed, hiding her face from the crowd and only showing the waist down.

How strange.

I stare at her, picking up her cold pale hand and holding it to my heart. I drop to my knees and the tears burst forward from my body. My cries are silent and I can feel the stares from everyone around me as I let out all of my emotions. I rub her wrist, expecting to feel her birthmark one last time, the one she hated so much, but all I come across is smooth skin.

I snap my eyes open and examine the inside of her wrist. On her right arm, right next to her vein was suppose to be a dark brown birthmark shaped like a potato, but there isn't anything there.

I look down at her body, at her legs and the tips of her curls poking out from under the top part of the casket and something tugs on my heartstrings and my stomach drops.

This isn't Blaire.

I get up abruptly and take a step back. My eyes are wide and my mouth has turned into a shape of an O as I look at everyone. Mrs. Hawthorn places a hand on my shoulder and I jerk away, feeling my blood singing in my ears, blocking out her voice.

My heart is pounding frantically as I rush out of the church and breathe in the fresh autumn air.

Blaire is still out there, she isn't dead.

But if Blaire isn't dead, then who is in that casket?

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Who do you guys think was in that casket? Pls vote and comment :))))
Mucho love

-jayymkenziee

p.s. i will edit this later sorry for grammar mistakes :)