Umbrella Of Roses

She watched him walk slowly, tears spilling down his pale cheeks. He raised his head as he stopped in front of the open casket. The face that looked up at him was no longer hers; her jaw was all wrong, like they'd taken out her teeth or moved them. Her skin was too pale and her eyes sunk deep in her makeup-smothered face. His face twisted slowly in distress and anger. He reached his shaking hand out and held her stone cold face.
"You don't look the same..." He shook her chin, "You don't look the same!"
His voice broke as he hung his head over her, consumed by despair. Anna could see in his eyes that he needed to say goodbye, to let go, but his Mother didn't look the same. He didn't know how to say goodbye to someone who wasn't there.
The pale, dolorous men walked in complete, tedious unison, their black umbrellas held high in the air like a cluster of dead flowers. The rain fell harshly around them and the wooden casket like icy needles. The sky rolled into a deep grey: the landscape transformed into a dull and stark wasteland. The water seeped into their shoes, whispers of cold fingertips caressed up their spine as they sniffled and wiped the stale tears that ran down their faces. The trees withered and hung heavy above them, mourning silently.
Children cried for an unknown loved one, hiding behind their mother’s skirts and holding their hands tight. The men kept their faces stoic, trying not to show how dead they were inside. The women wept, letting their tears fall and follow rivulets of pain.
She held his hand tight, trying to keep him with her, to keep his mind with hers. He sobbed, heavy breaths straining to a whimper. She walked silently, uncertain of the words needed to make it okay. They walked in the sodden grass with black umbrellas that followed without word. They came to the open grave, a hole in the ground that his mother would rot in, identical to the others. The black umbrellas hovered over them, like thick black clouds waiting to cascade down.

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