A sudden sound expands through my ear drums. I turn and see black chairs sitting adjacently with an array of people sitting in them. My father, brother, and Luca are sitting in the front. No emotion runs through their eyes. They look blank.
Ahead of them, vines tangle with each other. This looks familiar.
Black roses are scattered all around. It’s a memorial service just like my mother’s and grandmother’s. I look to the right and see both their graves sitting in the midst of branches. Then I realize what this is.
It’s my memorial.
I’m staring at my funeral, the black roses symbolizing my death. Just like all the women in my family. But the difference is that there is nothing in the middle, just a white skull. Not a black rose like the others, because my life is encompassed in the color black.
A chain reaction spreads through me as I fall to the ground, sensory overload hits. Children laughing is heard. I turn to look at them.
They run past me like I’m not even there.
I am nothing. Just black ash blowing in the wind, just like my mother.
They sprint towards Luca, and a little girl jumps on him. He reacts, a sad smile on his face. “Where’s mommy?” the girl speaks. He looks at the memorial.
“She’s right there, sweetheart.” He points to the flowers.
“No, daddy. That’s not her. Those are roses.”
“Let me tell you something,piccola mia. Your mother loved the color black. She died in this world, but not in our hearts. We all turn into ash and her black roses. Because when we leave the people we love, when we finally reach the inevitable, we leave our black roses behind with all the color that surrounds them. The impact that we leave is the life that we lived.”
I freeze. That’s my daughter, and he just said exactly what my father said when we attended my grandmother’s funeral.
This must be a sick joke.
The little boy who came in with my daughter runs towards León. He’s sitting next to a girl with dark red locks. Her black hat is drooping over her eyes, so I can’t see her face. The boy jumps into her grasp. Her hands are covered in black satin gloves, contrasting against her skin tone.
I just sit there looking at what’s in front of me and I don’t feel anything. No anguish. No frustration. No longing.
I hear cries, something you would hear a bird release. An owl flies overhead, diving for the ground and stopping in front of me. It lands, setting its gaze on mine. It’s staring in my direction with its round eyes. Its feathers are obsidian mixed with a carob undertone. Mimicking my movements, I turn my head slightly as it follows.
Suddenly, it flies away, and a single feather blowing in the wind drops into my hands. I admire its soft nature before it soars away towards everyone. And when I look up, they’re gone.
I wake up.
ChapterThirty-Seven
Maria Alejandra
Iwoke up in my bed.
Luca was distraught after I passed out and forced me to tell him everything.
After I finished talking, he stayed calm before he said he would be back. Ten minutes later, I could hear the sound of punching.
I could tell he was upset. I just appreciated the space he gave me when he left the room. I didn’t need to experience that again. Especially with him. He came back and said that he was sorry, which makes no sense to me. Why would he be sorry? It’s not his fault. He kissed me, told me he loved me, and then we fell asleep. My brother came banging on the door saying dinner was in thirty minutes.
So, we got up and dressed.
Walking down through a dark Castillo house is not for the faint-hearted. During the day it’s fine, but at night. Not so much.
I lead him towards the dining room, which is on the other side of the house. Yes, the house is fucking huge.
We enter the black, dimly lit dining room. My father sits at the head, as always, with León right next to him. On the other side of him is Lillian. She’s rocking her age in all white. Even though she technically took my mother’s spot, I’ve always had an affinity for her.
Maybe it’s because León is like my second father, but Lillian is genuinely the nicest. She treated me the same way she treated her son.