• The cool sweet April air lingered around me. The rain drizzled lightly for it seemed to be more mist than rain. The gray sky hung over us like a tent. The atmosphere seemed to suffocate me, grab me by the neck and choke me. The lilies drooped, hung their heads down in sorrow. My stomach sank and my heart began to beat faster. I brushed my hand over the smooth top of the long rectangular box. Burning tears rolled over my cheeks.
    She was gone. Gone for good. Never to see the sunshine or dance in the rain. Never to walk or run. Never to smile or help bear my tears. She was dead. My mother was dead.
    I shifted my eyes as they landed on a little girl. I didn’t know her, or even know why she was here. Her blonde curls jostled in the wind, and her blue eyes stared, devoid of emotion. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, she was gone. She disappeared like an apparition. I turned around only to see her behind me. Her white sundress with the daisy print flew in the breeze. She moved her lips, but no sound came from her mouth. She wanted to speak. She wanted to speak, but she couldn’t. I bent down next to her, gazing into those innocent blue eyes.
    She stared at me and laid her head on my shoulder. Tears streamed from her eyes, like she knew something terrible I didn’t. Though we were at a funeral it didn’t seem like she was mourning. It seemed that she was apologizing for something that she did, or was going to do. It was a cry of upcoming sorrow. I embraced her, wrapping my arms around her. The little girl held on tight to my sleeves. She clenched to me as if I was her last hope of survival. She held on tighter and tighter grasping on to me, until finally, she let go. It appeared as if she were forcefully dragged away against her will.
    I stood there in awe, who was that girl, and why did it seem that she was apologizing, why couldn’t she speak? Why did I not want her to go?
    But there was one thing I was positive about. I wasn’t sure how I could know that, but it seemed evident. I was defiantly sure I would meet her again. Not once, but multiple times. I was scared of seeing her yet another time. It was unusual that I would be scared, no terrified of seeing such a sweet innocent girl. Terrified, barely covered it. I was so frightened that I wanted to cry my eyes out.
    My father came and placed his hands on my shoulders. He gave a half-smile trying to calm my tears, although I could see the tears in the corner of his eyes. He leaned down next to me, “Hai, would like to burn some incense?”
    “No,” I shook my head, “I don’t want to”.
    “But why, I’m sure your mother would like that very much.”
    “No she wouldn’t, why would she want me too in the first place?”
    “Because you are her only daughter, you were exact replicas of each other. You practically acted the same except for a few minor details. But most of all you look just like her.” I stopped, it then hit me. I didn’t want any more memories of her. I didn’t want the pain of remembering she was real. I would go to just about any extent to forget her.