OUR YOUTH

It's raining very hard. Dark clouds cover the sky that turns gray. The same footstep goes in the same direction. The wet soil of the rainwater makes the feet that pass through it dirty. There's a sound of someone crying, there's also a whispering sound that seems to be feeling sorry for someone.

A smiling face in a black frame. Everyone wearing black clothes walked into an excavated field. The cry of a middle-aged woman who looked so sad when the body had been buried by the grave digger. The body fell trying to hug a tombstone that read,

[Diana Rosalia, 1977- 2017]

Losing her precious child is a deadly weapon that seems to destroy her world for a mother. Seeing his now dead son, seeing his son that he can no longer hug forever. Leaving herself first was the most painful thing for a mother.

"Lucas ... my poor granddaughter, Lucas …," she said, embracing me as if she knew her granddaughter. It's the first time she's hugged me in front of a lot of people. An old woman who doesn't know herself. Can still cry after what she did to his son.

I don't know what I'm like right now. It was disgusting when her hand touched his body. If only no one pretended to be sad about their mother's departure, the hypocrites who only cried when they saw what they thought was a matter of pity.

Some of the people who took Mrs. Diana to the last resting place have now begun to walk away. Now that I have no umbrella around me, my body is slowly getting soaked in the rain.

All around me was a tombstone stuck in every tomb, a dew that seemed to cover a part of the site, empty and empty. It's quiet. The sound of rain seemed to drive me to memories with Mom. There's not much time I spend with Mom. The thing I regret the most is letting you live in pain until the end of her life.

It's like being thrown into the cold sea, the waves of the ocean that drowns me. But I don't have the strength to fight.

"Mom … now what do I have to do to deal with them?"

That's right. They are. Even the one who's so mommy loves even though she's not here. I feel so sorry for her. Hate that may never end. Anger that will never even go out on someone who has thrown it away.

No more reason for me to stay inside. The place I'm supposed to be isn't Mom. A world full of injustice, I'm sick of it.

Even as I walked between the weeds, they withered colorfully. My life is gray. Not black nor white. It's just the color of the many colors in the world. It's all gray in my eyes. Even though I closed my eyes and then opened them again, only the same color didn't change.

"Slowly ... I hate this world."

***

My Mom and I haven't been to Dad's grave for so long. We're too busy to make money. The world is too cruel for those of us who don't have money. Since morning the sky seems to be grieving, and the rain doesn't stop. The path I passed became a shrub, a land of tombs mixed with rainwater. My left hand held a black umbrella — to my mother who looked so sad. It doesn't make sense that Mom still loves a man who even leaves suffering when he leaves us for good. I don't hate my father, I just don't like watching my mother suffer because of a dead father.

I wouldn't have come to my father's funeral if it wasn't for my mother. I just held back and pretended to still keep Dad in my heart. If he wasn't my father, I'd always hoped he'd go to hell.

Both my eyes seemed interested to see a man standing in front of the tomb in heavy rain without using an umbrella. Why do I feel like you're looking at a man wearing a school uniform? Our distance is even far apart, but I can feel lonely. It's like being alone in this world.

"We're here...," said the mother — stopping her steps right in front of father's grave.

Then I woke up and stopped my steps. I seem to be so focused on seeing the guy in the school uniform that I don't realize my steps. Luckily my mother didn't realize I was daydreaming and almost passed Dad's grave. We were silent for a while. It's unbelievable that I'm standing in your grave. What kind of feeling is this?

I was pensive — my hearing seemed to be sucked into a tombstone bearing my father's name,

[Robert Edwin, 1970 - 2015]

"I'm sorry. I know you hate this situation. Karina …," my mother said — there was a voice shaking, handling the cry.

I looked at my mother — saying nothing, just shut up, and put the tombstone back on. I was just confused until my mouth closed. But how do you know that?

I woke up.

"Mom, when did you know?"

"Your father always comes to my dreams, he always says the same thing, 'Say my apologies to Karina ...', he said that and then disappeared." said my mother while putting a bundle of flowers on her husband's grave.

"I'll forgive him if I see him later," I said while putting a flower from inside my coat pocket.

Only mean words can I say. My mother was silent and so was I just silently praying that Dad's sins wouldn't make our lives miserable. I mean it in my heart. Oh shit.

The sky is getting dark. We decided to leave, but the rain didn't stop. The rain was quite intense and a little thunderous.

Once again I saw another kid in that school uniform still there. If you look at it it seems that the tomb is new. That means someone just passed away and that boy ...

I'm so sorry for him ...