Funeral
A Story Every Day in 2024 Sept 6th 250/366
It is cold today. Fitting, some might say. A miserable, cold, grey day.
I've been asked to do a reading. I chose it. Clare Harner. You're gone but I don't really believe you're not here. I just hope...
A point above my navel clenches at the thought, a tight weightiness that coils and twists and threatens to squeeze out the emotion that I am desperately trying to keep down.
I take another draw on my cigarette, watch as smoke mixes with breath and lifts into the air.
The bells knell and it is time.
I hope I do you proud.
***
100 words exactly
I have a funeral today. It is stormy and the lightning flashes as I write this and now, the rain is starting to drum. A dark day indeed.
The poem:
Dedicated to my Aunty Angie.
Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.
250/366
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He didn't like to talk to his customers. It wasn't because he had nothing to say: he had a great interest in people and he had a life that was full; anecdotal and at times, crazy. He could regale his customers animatedly if he chose to, like a lauded entertainer and they would laugh, wide-eyed, at his witty, well-delivered tales.
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A Single Mother & A Stranger Boy – An Unexpected Love Story
It was raining that evening—the kind of rain that makes everything feel heavier than usual. Ayaan stood under a small café shed, watching the droplets hit the ground like broken memories. He wasn’t waiting for anyone. He never was. Life had taught him to keep moving without expectations. That’s when he saw her. She rushed in, holding her child close to her chest, her hair slightly messy, her face tired—but still… beautiful in a way that didn’t try to impress anyone. “Can we sit here?” she asked softly, pointing to the empty chair beside him. Ayaan nodded. Her son, maybe five years old, clung to her arm. She smiled at him gently, brushing his hair back. “You’re safe, sweetheart.” There was something about her voice… warm, protective, yet hiding a quiet sadness. Minutes passed in silence. Rain poured harder. “You come here often?” Ayaan finally asked. She let out a small laugh. “No… life doesn’t really give me that luxury.” He smiled. “Yeah… I get that.” She looked at him for a moment, studying his face like she was trying to understand something deeper. “I’m Sara,” she said. “Ayaan.” And just like that, something shifted. The next few days, Ayaan kept coming back to that café. Not because he liked the coffee… but because somewhere deep inside, he hoped she would be there again. And she was. Same corner. Same quiet strength. But this time, she smiled first. “You again?” “Maybe I like the rain,” he said. “Or maybe you like coincidences.” “Or maybe… I like conversations that haven’t finished yet.” She looked away, hiding a small smile. Days turned into weeks. Their conversations grew longer. Deeper. He learned she was a single mother. Her husband had left years ago. No explanations. No support. Just silence. “I stopped waiting for him,” she said one evening. “But I think a part of me stopped waiting for everything else too.” Ayaan didn’t say anything. He just listened. Because sometimes, being heard is more powerful than being fixed. One night, the café was closing early. Rain had started again. “Let me drop you home,” Ayaan offered. She hesitated. “I don’t usually trust people easily.” “I’m not ‘people’ anymore, remember?” he smiled. She looked at him… and for the first time, she didn’t say no. Her house was simple. Quiet. Her son had already fallen asleep in the car, and Ayaan carried him inside carefully. “Thank you,” she whispered. Their eyes met. And for a moment… the world outside disappeared. There was something in the air. Something unspoken. She stepped back. “I should… go inside.” “Yeah… you should.” But neither of them moved. Weeks passed. The distance between them slowly faded. Late-night calls turned into long walks. Casual smiles turned into lingering glances. One evening, sitting on a bench under dim streetlights, she finally said it: “You know this isn’t simple, right?” “I never wanted simple.” “I have responsibilities. A child. A past…” “And I’m not scared of any of that.” She looked at him, almost searching for doubt. But there was none. “Why?” she asked softly. Ayaan took a deep breath. “Because when I’m with you… everything feels real. Not perfect. Not easy. But real.” Her eyes filled with emotion. “No one has said that to me in a long time.” That night, something changed. Not suddenly. Not dramatically. But deeply. They didn’t rush into anything. Their connection wasn’t built on just attraction—it was built on understanding. But yes… there was attraction. The kind that makes your heartbeat louder when they’re close. The kind that makes silence feel heavy. One evening, as they stood in her living room, just talking… she stepped closer. “You’re dangerous,” she whispered. “Why?” “Because you make me feel things I promised myself I’d never feel again.” Ayaan didn’t respond. He just looked at her. And that was enough. She didn’t step away this time. Their relationship wasn’t perfect. There were doubts. Fears. Moments when she pulled away, afraid of losing everything again. “People like me don’t get happy endings,” she said once. Ayaan smiled gently. “Then let’s not call it an ending. Let’s just call it… now.” Her son started calling him “Ayaan bhai” at first… then slowly, just “Ayaan.” And somehow, without forcing anything, they became something like a family. Not by name. But by feeling. One rainy evening, just like the first day they met, they sat together at the café. “You know,” she said, “I used to hate the rain.” “Why?” “Because it reminded me of everything I lost.” “And now?” She looked at him… smiling softly. “Now it reminds me of everything I found.” Ayaan leaned back, watching the rain fall. Life hadn’t become easier. But it had become meaningful. And sometimes… that’s more than enough.
By Umar Farooq3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (19)
Many condolences, Rachel. Lovely parallel of nature’s gloom with a mournful heart
i wanted to feel home again . Home is you. Peace is us
Do not stand at my grave and weep is one of my favourite poems. I am so sorry to hear about your aunt. Wishing you peace Rachel. Take care ❤️
Sadly bit of lovely prose. I could feel a heaviness in my chest as I read it, which reflects it did exactly what you intended. I am so sorry about your Aunty Angie. May memories of her bring comfort.
I wonder if rain is good luck at funerals? Either way, sorry for your loss and this was a beautiful tribute! Great work Rachel! 💚
I'm so sorry for your loss. I was speaking at my mom's funeral back in July. It's so hard to do.
Sorry for you loss, love. It's such a harrowing thing to go through, losing a loved one. The poem is beautiful... I read it at my Dad's funeral. Thinking of you xx
Ironic how peoples lives parallel. I'll be in Wales toward the end of the month for my brother-in-laws funeral. He had a full life and I hope your aunt did as well.
This is lovely. I'm sorry for your loss. 🙏
This is a lovely, mournful piece - a glimmer of beauty from a great tragedy. So very sorry for your loss, friend.
Sometimes all we can do is make beauty out of pain
Sorry for the sad news. The fact that you've been asked to speak speaks of what your loved one thought of you.
Ah, chum, sorry for your loss. Hope the funeral goes as well as a funeral can. Your drabble is beautiful and very aptly described.
Aww, I'm so sorry for your loss. Hugs to you today. Beautiful bittersweet thoughts to share.
Oh I do that verse, yes. Sorry to hear you are at a funeral today. It is a lovely passage. And I imagine the feelings in your micro are on point. Best. ☺️
I’m sorry, Rachel, for your loss! This is a beautiful story!
How to do poignant with brevity. Love the link between navel and coiled (whether intended or not), and the symbolism of smoke mingling with human breath. Sorry for the loss of your auntie xx
Sorry Rachel. I'm sure you'll do them proud. I had to do a reading at my grandfather's funeral in July. Not easy.
I'm so sorry for your loss 🥺 Loved your story!