manda . r a i

[[WHY]] PAGE THREE

The priest stood at the head of the gravesite. A crowd of people assembled around it, all paying their last respects. Puddles formed from the tears as the casket was lowered. They still didn't know exactly why Amber had taken her life. The poem didn't say much, but her mother cherished it as the last piece of communication between her and her precious daughter. Perhaps Amber was sick of being so perfect. Maybe she was sick of everyone expecting her to be so good all the time. Possibly she wanted to be known for something else other than being the goody-two-shoes she was. They'd never know, no one would know, except Amber herself.

All five hundred people left in misery, mourning the loss of one remarkable person. One person. They went home with their own thoughts, their own mourning, their own tears. Her parents went home too, home to where Amber was not. Where Amber was gone, where Amber had killed herself. Her mother trudged upstairs to Amber's bedroom. It was as neat as a pin, the way it always was. Only this time it was different. Amber wasn't there anymore. She was gone. She had taken her own life. Her mother crumpled to the floor and lay down, staring up at the ceiling. Her face took on a blank, empty look, and she began to smile. She smiled not of Amber's death, but of Amber's life. Of the memories Amber had given her. Of the sixteen years she's been blessed with the child. She began to feel a peace come over her, and she knew that she was going to be ok. Amber was not with her in person, but now in spirit.

<< back to writings