• In the dark, abandoned room, there lay an un-opened present. The present lay still, the rattling and wails of trees as the wind softly passed by was present during the day as the gift slowly collected invisible specks of dust.

    Soft and delicate hands opened the gift slowly, sobs echoing throughout the household telling of a loss. Warm caresses as the gift was stroked slowly, teardrops slowly wet it with bitter mourning.

    It was a simple black parasol, but with the most elegant black lace that of which the likes he has never seen.

    The simple gift....the simple gift couldn't have words to describe it....

    It was simply just there.....

    The lace seemed to dull as the day came by and he rode through dark passerby and dulled tints of life. Mourning was good enough, for it showed signs of progress...of life....

    And as the days went by passing the convergence of the families to cry their losses out from the bottom of their hearts....

    That parasol seemed to be the only thing holding his sanity.

    Day by day, he wore the same black coat with the same black dress pants with the same black dress shoes with the same black parasol with the black lace.

    The mourning had never went as it passed. It stayed and stayed, enduring the passages of time and space, an oddity indeed, that it was.

    The parasol never seemed to get damaged at all, for he had taken care of it with the utmost respect and love.

    It's lace...Oh golly....that lace....

    It only looked fitting when it was on his casket.

    He had died earlier that day.