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Segment from a dramatic fiction I wrote sometime ago.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this!” she sobbed into his limp body that she held so tightly in her arms. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

They bowed their heads around her, almost in shame. There was nothing that they could do. He picked her up and tired to carry her home, but she squirmed screaming her tears. In the end she quieted only when she passed out from her own screaming. The men picked up the body and carried it somberly away to have a decent burial.

The priest read the words on the paper without feeling at the funeral. Just like he did at his sermons. The people were silent, pretending to listen as they hid underneath their black umbrellas. She stood unmoving, starring at the coffin. She was waiting for the impossible to occur, but it didn’t.

Later people moved on to a dinner where almost strangers spoke of the deceased. Her older brother kept people at bay so that she could be left to her thoughts. He watched her staring into nothingness with a grim look on his face. “She’s been like that for weeks.” He grumbled to his wife. His wife looked at him sympathetically “It will pass dear, don’t worry. It will pass.”

But it didn’t pass during dinner that night, or the next night, or the next month. He watched as every day she sat by the window waiting for him to return to her. As though nothing had happened. He was worried about his sister, but life for him had to continue. He still had his wife to care for.

“I feel like I am already dead. I am hollow inside; empty.” She whispered to her reflection in the window. “Why don’t you go outside or something?” her brother’s wife suggested. She sighed knowing that they did not understand.

Then one day when he woke up, his sister was simply not there. His wife told him not to worry, that she would be all right. Somehow thought he doubted her words of comfort.