“I don’t know. That’s a really mean thing to do. I opt for the other option, which is just to remain silent. Stop it! Stop pushing me!”
The afternoon was burning, clasping my unsure body. I was sitting on a chair in the kitchen room and I was enraged with my friends. They kept sparring with me about how I did not want to go to the cemetery. They said it was where I belong and that I should just forget what I had today. It was bizarre, I know! Like them, actually.
I heard a knock from the kitchen door and my husband—fresh from work—gleamed at me. He kissed my cheek and knew that I was in a sour mood. “Is everything alright?”
They were slipping away from the room—my friends. I loathed how they always hide with my husband’s presence. “No, no! Don’t go anywhere, freaks!”
I did not know I was dazed. “Dear! What is happening?”
A tear slipped from my eye. “I can hear them, again.”
My husband’s features softened. “Oh, honey…”
And, then, I was mad—again.
WORD COUNT: 185