Grey. Everything is grey.
I'm standing outside of a funeral home.
People walk by me, try to comfort me but they're just blurs in black. Words have no meaning to my drowning ears.
Black. Everything is black.
I'm wearing the dress I wore to Grammy's funeral.
My mother says he's gone somewhere better now. That he's in heaven and happy. She says she's conquered her grief, that I'm a young lady and should do the same.
Red. Everything is red.
I want to scream. Scream and scream and scream until my lungs collapse and I die too.
I can still hear the sirens. Why didn't I die, too? Why do I have to keep dragging myself through a semi-normal routine without the most important man in my life?
Grey. Everything is grey.
I'm wishing so hard for a miracle, like he sits up and didn't die, or like I'm dreaming and I'll wake up soon. I feel dizzy.
They're burying my father today.
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