It should be raining. The world should stop. Every being on this earth should stop what he or she is doing and join everyone in a planet-wide moment of silence. The sky should rip itself open and spill oceans onto cities in every country. Yes. It should be raining every time a ten-year-old has to bury her father. The weather should match the feelings in her tiny chest. The anger. The betrayal. The pain. Thunder should roar as loudly as the ringing in her ears.
One pill.
Two Pills.
Three pills.
Drink.
Daddy’s not breathing. Wake up, Daddy. Wake up. Please. I can’t do this alone.. She is a spitting image of her mother. The woman he could never keep. Maybe that is why he did it. Her small frame is rigid; the first sign of a hatred for the world that will grow to consume her in following years. I walk up behind her as the casket is lowered into the ground and I rest my hands on her trembling shoulders. I know there are no tears; I remember. Just a swelling rage building in her core.