The Bound Collection
The media had drifted off with the others, and all that remained was a middle-aged man holding a bible seated in a white folding chair at the far end of the first row.
The seats looked so desolate without anyone in them, but the casket was a far worse sight than empty chairs. My long hair waved in the wind as I approached. The sun reflecting off it, shining as though it were a beautiful day not one filled with grief and loss. I found myself directly in front of the beautiful, black box and sat, staring at its finality, the significance of this time and place. I didn't sit on a chair. Instead, I kneeled on the freshly turned dirt, resting my bottom on my calves, my feet crossed at the ankles.
Bab Populer