Black is the Family's Legacy

I wrote this out for my character Mischa. His father's death was the trigger for the events that occurred later in his life and so I thought it important to write out some things surrounding his father.

 My mother sat in the backseat of the cab with an arm wrapped tightly around my middle and her lips pressing up against my hair. She gently rubbed my hands while kissing the top of my head.

"Today is such a sad day, Mischa. Even the clouds cry for our loss." She whispered to me.

I looked up at the clouds and indeed they were crying. Ice cold tears of rain had just begun to fall down from the heavens, harshly beating against the cab windows, streaking the glass with wetness. I blew onto the window with hot breath, fogging it partially, and dragged a finger through the white. I wrote one word out on the window.

'Funeral'.

The cab eased to a stop in front of an out of place church surrounded by the rest of the cityscape. It was a giant cathedral, greatly resembling those you would have seen in the medieval days.

My mother handed the cab driver the money owed and grabbed her umbrella. She opened up her door and popped open the black umbrella outside. The rain bounced off the waterproof material, a few stray drops hitting my cheeks and the seats in the back of the cab.

I reached up and wiped away one of the sky's tears away from my face with the back of my suit sleeve.

"Come on, Mischa." My mother outstretched her hand to me and I grabbed onto it without hesitation.

I stepped out of the back seat of the cab and my mother shut the door behind me. The bright yellow car immediately pulled back into the traffic. I watched as it's red taillights faded into the rainy streets, leaving me and my mother standing there in front of the church.

I watched as people were ushered into the church and wondered why my mother and I just stood there. I looked up at my mother's face and saw the nervousness in her unearthly amethyst eyes. She was obviously uneasy about all these people, but as for why I had no idea. I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

She looked down at me  and faintly smiled. It was all she could muster up considering our predicament, and I couldn't blame her. 

As she turned back to face the church, she returned my squeeze. She swallowed the knot that had grown in her throat and stepped forward. 

By the time we reached the steps everyone was already inside, walking down the center ailse or sitting in the pews. 

The moment we entered everyone looked at us and began to whisper to each other quietly. That's what people always seemed to do when me and my mother went somewhere, especially when that somewhere happend to be somewhere with my father's side of the family.

Women grabbed their children and forced them away from us, as if protecting them from us. The men stood protectively in front of their wives and families. Everyone else just stared at us, whispering things that I could only assume were about me and my mother.

"You see? That's David's son." An elderly woman said in an acidic tone of voice that almost seemed like enough to hurt my ears just to hear.

"So then that woman is...so she's the vile woman who cursed our David to death." Another woman hissed.

I turned and looked into the pews, looking directly at them. I saw both women standing next to one another, looking at my mother and me with sheer disgust in their eyes. It was that same nasty look I always saw in my grandfather's eyes when he looked at me. Did they hate me too?

I felt my mother's hand squeeze tigher around my own as if telling me to ignore those women. She wanted me to know that it was all right, those women weren't of any importance.

We walked down the center ailse of the church and towards the front of where a large black box was up where the preacher was supposed to stand. The box caught the light coming from the candles surrounding it, making a streak of light seem to run across the side of it.

A small family up at the box turned and saw us and immediately walked away, standing clear of us like everyone else.

I got an even better look at the box. I could see white fabric peeking over the edges and the scent of cloying flowers all coming from the black box.

It almost reminded me of a shoebox. Just like the one we used to bury my baby bird when it died. My father lined the box with fabric, just like the one in before me now, and we laid my bird in there before burying him in the backyard underneath the shade of the tree.

And just like my baby bird's box I saw that it's lid was wide open for us to see inside.

My mother stopped us right in front of the box and suddenly she became weak again. I felt her tremble and listened to her stiffling a sob or a scream, I don't know which. I knew whatever was in the box had done this to her so I dared to see inside as well.

I stood on my tiptoes and peered inside. My eyes immediately shot wide in horror.

In that box laid my father in his best Sunday suit. His face was trimmed of stubble and his bronze hair was slicked back. On his middle rested his hands, neatly placed one on top of the other. I couldn't help but notice how his skin was pale white, like a ghost, and how it looked like someone had tried to change that with a bit of makeup.

It didn't work. No matter how you looked at him, my father was still dead.

Author's Note

Tell me any mistakes you notice, please! Other than that...ENJOY!