... I found one of my stories i wrote in middle school....

[c0lor_me_in]

"I softly traced my mother's face with my eyes, as she lay in the coffin. My mother's nose pointed straight up to the ceiling of the chapel, her hair feathered and even highlighted; it seemed that the funeral home "delux" package had been worth the money. Her face was gentle and soft, unlike the way the paramedics had found her. Disturbing images of how my mother's face lay on the kitchen floor haunted me constantly throughout the funneral; one time it got so bad, while the priest was lighting the candels in the back, my stomach tightened and a spurt of vomitt slid up my throat-- i choked and swallowed, pretending to cry. I didn't think it was right how my mother had died, but I knew it didn't hurt me that she was gone now."
(i wrote this a while ago... and I'm really disturbed... deeply deeply disturbed.)