Masked Illusions: Chapter One Part One: The Pity Party Login to Kupika  or  Create a new account 

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Masked Illusions: Chapter One Part One: The Pity PartyCategory: (general)
Monday, 22 November 2010
06:37:30 PM (GMT)
Part One:

Click. Click. Click.
	 Her heel resounded on the marble floor as she made her way down the aisle,
determined not to notice the pitying looks she was receiving. She closed her eyes as
she walked, unable to bear the overwhelming mass of black that surrounded her. Only a
few more steps. Blinking slowly, she opened her eyes, focusing only on the podium
just a few feet away. She took a deep breath then turned to glance at the audience
surrounding her.
	Normally, she would have been terrified. Her jaw almost always locked up, and her
hands were usually a shaking mess. But not today. Numbness had enveloped her body,
and she stared out at the silent crowd, her face expressionless.
	“Most of you who knew my mother and father,” she began, locking eyes with her
teary sister in the front row. “Would know that what they hated most was silence.
Our halls were always echoing with laughter, and there was never a time when my
parents weren’t smiling. When we were children, our father used to make up silly
stories based off the classic fairytales, and afterwards our mother would sing us to
sleep. She was the most talented, most beautiful lady I’ve ever known, and I’m
sure most would agree.” She choked out the last five words, finally feeling color
rise to her cheeks as she struggled to control the unexpected anger welling up inside
her. No one here knew her parents like she did, not even her older sister. She looked
back up at the crowd, suddenly aware that an audience was still watching her. “Let
us all remember their wonderful souls not just today, but forever.”
	She hastily descended down the aisle, once more surrounded by the eerie silence and
sympathetic gazes. Her speech had originally been much longer, but overcome by
emotion of the moment, she had skipped to the last sentence.
	“Take a seat by me, Chey.” She glanced up, searching for the worried voice, and
found her sister’s confused expression, patting the hard wooden seat beside her.
	She quickly sat on the crowded pew as the next speaker stood; muttering an insincere
“Thanks” as a way to end the questioning look her sibling was giving her.
	“Wasn’t your talk supposed to be a tad longer?” She sighed as her curious
sister prodded her with a chubby finger, but didn’t move to end what seemed like an
attack of pokes, once more a numb statue.
	“Just let it go, Mari. I tried.” Cheyenne turned her head towards the front,
ready to escape the morbid scene. Everyone was a clone of the person next to them,
gloomy sorrowful creatures, weighed down by the sad reality of what was taking place.
Even worse, the overwhelming black seemed stand out, eating away any surviving hope
for a happier future. And then, the most unbearable of all, the two coffins that lay
side by side, showered in carnations, their parents’ chosen flower.
	It was heartbreaking, the way everyone stared ahead, attempting to hide the
unmistakable tears glistening on their cheeks, how others were sitting tall and
straight, pretending to not be feeling any depressing emotion. Yet the scene that was
truly tragic was the family in the very back row; a mother, a father, three or four
kids, and an elderly lady, all laughing quietly in the back, completely unaware of
the melancholy expressions surrounding them.
	The speaker, a close friend of the family, stepped down from the podium, and
Cheyenne snapped out of the daze. She looked up, unfeeling to the atmosphere around
her, and watched as her sister led the funeral to a close. Small groups began to
drift away from the congregated crowd as everyone stood, and a sad church hymn began
to play.
	Everyone made their way towards her relatives in the front row of the old church,
and Cheyenne found herself overwhelmed by the constant questions, all reiterating the
one before in some way. Weren’t they supposed to give the grieving family room to
	She shoved her way through the throng of people, scowling as a sympathetic friend
patted her shoulder. She needed to escape. She made her way to the empty restroom, a
steady flow of tears streaming down her cheeks. Only now did the emotion of the
moment catch up to Cheyenne, and the feelings that had been bottled up so tightly
before leaked through. The sky blue tiled walls horribly contradicted the dreadful
scene outside of the dim-lit bathroom, and were covered with innumerable cracks,
which reflected the overall state of the room itself. Nothing appeared to be either
welcoming or sanitary in the small restroom, and Cheyenne shuddered, sure the messy
area hadn’t been cleaned in at least a month.
She gazed at herself through blurry eyes into the mirror, grasping the grainy counter
tightly as she took deep, calming breaths. Her crimson hair, which had been piled so
neatly on the top of her head before was slowly falling out, making the tidy bun seem
messy. Even worse, her make up had smeared, as if attempting to defy her command for

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