Hey Kid? Wrong Number.

no mourners, no funerals

i think i deserve to be slapped for the last cliffhanger.

haha no seriously.

anyhooow. buckle up bois, because this chapter is about to get

*pause for effect*

aNgStY

Ellie's POV

The sky was crying.

Big, fat teardrops leaked out of the stormy wolf-grey heavens, splashing onto the ground and creating massive muddy puddles that reflected the image of a grieving girl in a black dress. The girl's hair, usually long and blonde and tangled, was neat and tied back at the top of her head in an elaborate bun, pinned with a black fascinator. She was proper and prim, like a little doll, and, if she hadn't been crying, she could have been seen as beautiful.

I still couldn't get over the fact that the girl in the puddle was me.

I stood alone on the top of a damp green hill, water soaking through the small black shoes I wore on my feet. Just over the hill's crest was a small group of black-cloaked people, most of them senior citizens, talking quietly amongst themselves. The smallest tinkle of laughter came from the group, but it was no merry gathering. 

The mourners at my grandmother's funeral were all gathered around a table of food - all of my Gran's favourite things, such as cucumber sandwiches, honey biscuits, and tea cakes. The air smelt of her perfume, of exotic spices and flowers from distant lands.

Just the smell of the air made me cry.

People - my Gran's friends - had beckoned me over to the food table after we'd had the funeral service. They had offered their condolences, given me hugs and pats on the back. I'd wanted to get away from it all for the entire time, their pity making me feel even worse.

I always hated that. Pity. I got a lot of it, first from my parent's and what-would-have-been little sister's death, and now my Gran. People always looked at me sadly, like I wasn't a teenage girl, but a sad basket case, grieving from the loss of too many loved ones. All of that pity made me want to throw up - I hated it so, so much.

And now I was standing on the hill, next to the freshly dug grave of my grandmother, the tiny tombstone wet and grey. Her name - Isabella Maria Roven - shone in the dampness of the afternoon.

There was no inscription, no carving of "she will be greatly missed" , or even a date of birth and death. Just her name, alone on the slate.

I couldn't stand anymore. I slowly sank to my knees and stared at it, my head spinning.

I was alone. An orphan. A foster kid, about to be sent away to Arizona, to a family I'd never met or heard of before.

I would run away. I'd lie about my age and join the army. I'd do something.

Anything.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Peter Parker, his hair damp and plastered to his forehead, his eyes sad and lonely.

"Hey, Ellie Belly," he said.

I sniffed and turned sharply away, not wanting for Peter to see me cry. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "You weren't on the guest list."

"No, I wasn't." Peter chuckled softly. "That was very rude of you."

I swiped my eyes with the cuffs of my sleeve and glared at him with watery, fierce eyes. "What, am I supposed to invite you to everything, Parker?" I demanded. "Is it a requirement that you have to be with me through everything? Even my Gran's funeral? Just so you can see me cry?"