Andrei and Rhian

There was a time I believed death to be the only truth, and once upon a time, a youthful priest stood where I’d stand centuries later—believing all I’d come to believe, saying all I’d come to say. “And let it be known as our Mother preached, ‘For all who pass upon my land, all shall be received and a greater purpose found.’” For the elderly whose time had passed, the priest may have felt peace. For the diseased, relief. For the victims, regret. But for the youth…

Well it was a sunny day, so I reckon the holy-man would have raised his arms to the sky and said something like, “Amalia shines her bright white-ish light for Lidia and Victoria as their reception commences.” And it would have been a load of horseshite. Reckon even he knew that as he’d go on saying all the pretty somethings-to-say when nobody’s got the words. See, none of it mattered to the folk who wanted them back. But he’d remind them that Lidia was a pretty lass, that she was healthy and loved by all, and that she lit up the room with her smile and whatnot.

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When the Ruza family succumbed to sleep—on that night and for those nights to come—they remembered Lidia and Victoria again as they were. Pretty. Loved. Alive. And of those who mourned the loss, it was the brown-eyed boy who suffered the longest. In two weeks’ time, he'll attend another funeral.