purevolume™

A story....

So i write stuff. Why? Idk, cuz it's a good way to get stuff out of your mind so that you don't go crazy and end up sitting in a padded room wearing a straight jacket singing Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin' Something" and doing the moon walk. Plus i have a tendency to over describe thing and i let my imagination runaway to odd, little places lol. Anyways this is a section of a story that i've been working on for about a year now and i need some feedback (i've gotten some opinions from some friends, but doesn't hurt to have more lol). So read it and tell me what ya think! Thanky-tanky! Ti'Anna :] Sub-chapter 3: A Weakening of the Heart It's an overcast day. The clouds in the sky show threats of rain, the perfect forecast for a day like this. It's September 5, 2001. A Wednesday. A bleak day. A black day. A death day. It's the day of Dad's funeral. This is no normal funeral (if such a thing is possible), no this is a military funeral. Marines dressed in full uniform carry Dad's casket in and set it down only a few feet away from where Lane and the rest of his family sit. Lane stares at the ground in front of his feet, not daring to look up at the shiny, black metal that is his Dad's coffin. He looks over at his Mom, she's slumped over in her chair, holding her head in her hands, weeping quietly to herself while Auntie Grace rubs her back. Kiristin sits perfectly still between the two of them, gripping on to a rose as if it's the only thing that's holding her together. The eulogy starts, and one person after another gets up to say things about how brave and courageous Dad was, and it makes Lane proud to have been his son. Then as soon as begins, it ends. People are getting up to look at his casket and say their final goodbyes. Lane decides to brave a look in the direction of the crowd. "You are not going to freak out, your just going to look at the casket. It's like Dad always said, 'mind over matter', just look at it and be done with it", his mind told him. Slowly he brought his eyes to level with the casket. First from the ground, to his shoes, to his hands that are tightly gripping his knees, till he was finally staring at it. It was a cold, shiny black thing with silver accents. An American flag is draped along the length of it. For the first time he notices that the lid isn't opened. Well that's not surprising, the explosion mangled his body up really badly, Lane saw the pictures. Dad's strong, angular chin covered in blood, his left arm swung over his head at an un-Godly angle, right leg completely gone. Just thinking about it was enough to make his stomach lurch. Quickly he lowered his eyes back to their resting place, on the ground in front of his shoes. It's more than his little thirteen year old heart can bear. He let's out a low groan from the pit of his stomach; it embodies everything he's been feeling over the past week. Anger, frustration, sorrow, hatred, resentment, betrayal. But nobody hears it because just as he lets it out there's a clap of thunder. A fat drop of rain lands on top of Lane's head, he looks up. The rain mingles with the precipitation falling from his own eyes...

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