The venue was small, almost claustrophobic. I found out quickly while planning that the movie depictions of enormous cathedrals, light shining in through stained glass, were just that, fiction.

I wanted to leave.

A man came up to me crying, a family friend, or something like that. "I'm so sorry, you've stayed so strong. Please, let me know if I can-" do anything. I thanked him, shook his hand, and waited for the next one.

God, my suit was tight - it was a rush job, picked up a couple of hours prior, and it felt like a black snake coiling around my body.

I really wanted to leave.

As the tide of people settled, the pastor walked towards me and clutched my shoulder. "You did great, they'd be so proud." He squeezed. "Take a second here, I'll be outside."

I was alone now in the chapel and I looked behind, back towards the caskets. Three sleek boxes polished like a freshly cleaned hardwood floor. We had been crossing the street on a bright, sunny day when a fourteen-wheeler skidded across the road and slammed into us; Mom, Dad, and Sister, toppled like bowling pins.

Now, a funeral five days after the fact as if it was a plan for brunch. I've thought about it so much that the memories had practically carved themselves into my head. Death and shattered windshields and screams, and Amazing Grace and stifled sobs.

Hilariously though, there's me. Not so much as a scratch, nor a single hair out of place. A miracle people called it, but it was just a very, very bad joke

The propped up portraits of my family gazed at me, their faces still smiling.

I felt sick.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It rained the entire way back home. Family friends, my friends, hell even the damn pastor had offered to give me a ride, but I didn't take their offers. It's not like I wanted pity - oh look at the poor orphan boy all soaked and soggy! No. It's just I wanted, needed to be alone.

Fortunately, I had picked a chapel close to home so the walk was short. I splashed through puddles as I trudged to my door, and put the key in. The entrance creaked open, and I was met with a pitch-black living room.

I took off my shoes, and carefully placed them next to the others. The shoe rack, as it had been for the past five days, was a disheveled heap of footwear.

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My sister was a fashion fiend. She had a pair for every situation - black dress formal? The heels she always complained about were tucked away on the bottom shelf, or what about our weekly visits to our cousin's house? Easy. Her white crocs lay separated, one on the floor, while the other teetered dangerously off the center shelf.

Mom would've been pissed.

"I'm home," I said.

The pitter-patter of rain against the windows accompanied the flicking of lights, and I looked around. To the couch where dad used to sit and roar, in rage or joy I could never tell, at football games. To the cold, untouched plate of food brought by my aunt for me to eat.

To the fact that home was so.. empty.

It's not like I wasn't used to being alone, but this was different. My family was gone, not for the 'girl's nights out' that I'd always make fun of, nor for the lovey-dovey 'date-nights' that my sister and I would groan at. No, they were gone for good, and all these memories were like needles pricking into my heart.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

They say that everything happens for a reason, and the reason that I lost everything was.. drumroll please.. a malfunction! According to the driver, the truck had just stopped working.

"I swear I'm sober!" He spat on the ground, "I swear.. I swear that it jus' stopped working, like it was magic!"

He maintained that story all the way up until he got dragged away in the back of a cop car.

I clenched my fist until it turned numb.

If I couldn't even blame the driver, then what was I supposed to do with this feeling? This disgusting brew of anger and emptiness that had been bubbling inside ever since the funeral?

TAP. TAP. TAP.

Like magic he says. So you're saying the reason I'll never again get to argue with my sister about some inane topic, or awkwardly hug my dad, or say, "I love you", to my mom is because of… magic?

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP.

I swung my fist toward the wall as hard as I could, and the drywall splintered on impact. Blood flowed from my knuckles, and one of my fingers was bent like a Tetris piece.

"Fuck."

I tore a paper towel off the kitchen counter and wrapped it around my hand; I had just booked myself a direct visit to the doctor's office, but I couldn't find it in me to care. I just looked at the window, toward the water sliding down like crashing waves.

"It's a terrible day for rain," I whispered.

I stood there for a while, looking through that dark pane until I saw a small spark of light amidst the ink-black canvas. And then, it exploded.

The window was no longer visible - the entire room was bathed in painful brilliance and I felt an intense heat sear my entire being.

BOOM!

I was being cooked alive. Dark splotches marked my vision, slowly growing in size until I couldn't see anything at all.

Was I dying? What was that light? It was like.. I couldn't think. Huh, blood boiling feels like lava in your veins.

My hand, the injured one, I didn't feel it.

I remember now, it was magic. It was like magic!

Magic.. the truck driver, and now this.

If only..

My thoughts scattered.

If I could..

I..

Who was I?

still..

What?

wanted to live.

…

…

…

"Up now," a soft voice resounded.

I opened my eyes slowly.

A lithe woman in a spilling, white sundress sat in front of me, clutching her knee to her chest. Shining platinum hair cascaded down to her waist, and she looked at me through sharp, sky-blue daggers.

She grinned lopsidedly.

"I heard you wanted to live?"