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livethepostmetal
Sep 13, 2007


I'm in for my first Thunderdome. Also my first attempt at writing, so I'm sure everyone will tear it to shreds give me excellent feedback.

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livethepostmetal
Sep 13, 2007


The Procession 499 words

The funeral procession crept down the main street of the small Argentinian town. Several men spit on the ground in disgust as the three black cars passed. Maria turned from staring out the window to her brother sitting beside her. He looked as though Father was still there scolding him and not lying in the car in front of them.

Her earliest memory of her brother was not a pleasant one but it was all she could think about. She could remember peeking out her window down onto the balcony as her Father watched over his painting. Watched and kept guard. Father would have him paint the beautiful view of the mountains with the valley and its forest over and over. Each time he finished, Father would tear it pieces, telling him, “No. Again. We will do this until you get it right.”

Her brother’s eyes glowed red. Her heart strained, trying to break free to reach him, wanting to tell him how good it was, how good he was.

The cars pulled up to the cemetery. The pallbearers marched the coffin up to the plot. There weren’t enough men to carry it and the caretaker had to step in to help. They were the only family there, her brother and herself. The rest of the group consisted of the servants of her Father’s house.

As the priest began to speak, she looked around at the faces. Each was as if his death had turned them to stone while they were sleeping. Gabriela met her eyes for an instant before staring down at the dirt. She had taken care of Maria for so many years. One day while she was reading in the study as her Father poured over old maps as he would often do, Gabriela came with his dinner. Without so much as a taste, he knocked the bowl of soup from her hands into the wall and screamed at her for bringing him such an awful meal.

“I should have never took you and your bastard son in. I should have left you on the street with the rest of the dogs.”

Gabriela scrunched up her face to avoid crying and when he was done, she silently cleaned the mess and went to cook him another meal.

Each person in turn placed a rose atop the coffin. The coffin was carefully lowered into the plot. The caretaker lit a cigarette and began to fill the hole.

Her Father had done everything to stop her from smoking. The first time she got caught coming home late smelling of gin and cigarettes, he sat her down in silence for 20 minutes as he paced. The anticipation sobered her up just in time for her Father to remove his belt and make her unable to sit for a week.

The group dispersed, leaving her alone with the gravedigger. As he piled the last bit of dirt on, she glimpsed the tombstone; ‘Adolf’. A single tear fell down her cheek.

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