Mourning Never Comes Novels & Stories

Aurelia's point of view The chamber was quiet, suffocatingly so. The mourning chants from earlier in the day still echoed in my head, threads of sorrow that refused to loosen. The scent of incense clung to my skin, heavy and bitter, reminding me of the burial, reminding me of the loss that felt like it had cracked something deep inside me. My mother was gone and she won't be coming back, not anymore.

She places the bouquet gently on the grave, the vibrant colors contrasting against the muted tones of the cemetery. “Mom…” As tears streams down her face, Nora's voice trembles with a mixture of grief and disbelief. The weight of the realization crashes upon her, like an unrelenting wave, as she acknowledge that her mother would never return. The profound loss sinks deep into her soul, leaving an indelible ache that seems to consume her being.

"How's he doing, by the way?" "Not great. He keeps acting as if nothing happened and this is the worst thing. He didn't mourn, looking up at the kids. It's important. Mourning is the cruellest and most important part for anyone who loses a loved one. If we skip that step and straight try to move on, it's gonna explode terribly", I whisper, lowering my eyes.

"Daddy, can you come home earlier next time? I missed you so much." "Daddy, when I grow up, I'll buy you a huge house." "Daddy... will I even grow up?" "Don't cry, Daddy. I love you." Now she lay there, silent. No more voice. No more warmth in her hand. It felt like my heart had been ripped out slow, piece by piece. Regret and despair crushed my chest until I could barely breathe. In the end, only one thing was left. "Stella, I love you too."

Waiting for a message that's never going to come. From a woman who's already gone.

She was too busy to grieve over the death of Mary. Sometimes I really don't understand her sadness. We all have to die one day. Isn't it useless to cry your eyes out for someone who will never return? I've learned from experience. No matter how much I cried, my parents never came back. If people who are still alive won't come back, how will the dead?

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I braced myself as we joined the procession of mourners. Cries and sobs pierced the air, mixing with the faint whispers of the wind as grieving loved ones knelt before various graves. The sounds were a haunting melody of sorrow, echoing in the backdrop of the hushed atmosphere. My chest constricted as if a vice was squeezing my heart, making it difficult to draw in the heavy air.

Grief does not leave, but it spreads. It becomes something else. Something solid. Resolve. I scan the horizon, rubbing the dampness from my face. My dad always said to be strong, but he never suggested I could not mourn. And I will mourn. I will weep for him, miss him, carry this pain in me. But I will not break. Because if there is one thing I know without a doubt, it's this— No one gets past my family and lives. I gasp sharply, my chest spasming as the memory is lost.

Silence. Her expression remained unreadable. “They thought you had died five years ago.” “You believed?” “No.” “And you mourned me?” My heart tightened. “Yes, but I never believed you were dead, and I never stopped searching,” I replied. She smiled faintly. “Interesting.” “What?” “You mourned me even when you didn’t believe I was dead.” “How ironic,” she chuckled coldly. I nodded. “I mourned not your death but your absence.” “I mourned your disappearance and the emptiness it brought to my soul,” I replied.

Yet, intertwined with it, was a quiet stillness, a profound lack of… mourning. It was an odd sensation, like listening to a familiar song played on a slightly different instrument. The melody was there, but the timbre was off. I had known from the moment I first truly felt his presence within the pack that Darren carried a deep sorrow, a profound grief that permeated his very being. It was subtle, often masked by his defiance or fear, but it was always there, a low thrum beneath the surface of his vibrant energy. It was part of what made him so captivating, so uniquely him.