The air is still. The people walk softly and talk gently, almost to the extend of whispering. It makes the room more empty and hollow. Candles are lighted, signifying life. They look sombre, even though flowers are arranged. The atmosphere is like the white flowers, clean and pure and peaceful.

He likes the shirt he is wearing, his favourite. He likes the smell of freshly pressed shirt, makes him feel impeccable. His wife always knew how he likes his shirt to be done, how to press and where to hang. Luckily his precious daughter learnt the tricks before his beloved left them. It was three years ago, and he still remember the day when she said she is tired. She wanted a break, a break from all the medicines and endless operations. She is tired of all the tubes and machines they connected to her body. Almost instantly after she had said that, her blood pressure went down, drastically. The doctor tried to pull her back to life, but the effort was in vain. They buried her 2 days later, at the church where they always go.

His daughter is there, sitting there sobbing. His son-in-law comforting her. Poor girl, she must be very sad, from her swollen eyes he can tell. More and more people are at the church now, the church where his wife lies now. In a few minutes time, it is going to start.

A celebration for him, as he is going to see his wife again. Yes, a funeral for himself, has started.

p/s This is my attempt to write a story. Any coincidences is very regretted.

orange & cat