Hate (Micro-Fiction Monday)

I hate the colour black. Actually, that’s not true—he hated the colour black. But since he’s not here to complain about the atmosphere of the room, I’ll hate it on his behalf.

         

Nobody’s commented on my pink sundress yet. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to be rude.  It can’t be because they understand, or they know why I chose this outfit. Nobody knew him better than I did.

                

Maybe it’s because they’re too lost in their own grief to try and understand the thought process behind mine. Maybe they hate the colour black, too—but that’s unlikely. Nobody else has made an effort to break this tradition like I have.

                

It could be because they just don’t care. I don’t recognize half of the people here—to them, I’m just some girl. Why would they care how I dress? They’re hurting just as much as I am.

                

I think the real reason, though, is because they’re too preoccupied with their whispers, and the not-so-secret glances they steal at the ring on my left hand. The one that I showed to no one, the one that didn’t appear until after he was gone. The one I found tucked safely into his jacket pocket, too late to give him my answer.

                

He’d hate this, all of it. Not because of the atmosphere, or the whispers, or the way total strangers talk about him like they were his best friend. He’d hate it because I’m crying.

                

He wouldn’t want me to cry. But that’s something I can’t fix on his behalf.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne