Present - 1

This is my first time going to a funeral. It’s for someone I used to know. One of my classmates.

The reception area itself is entirely stark white, so all of the black stands out like splotches of ink on a sheet of paper. The tables, everyone’s clothes, and of course, the large casket in the middle. It sucks all the air out of the room. There’s an old saying that you should hold your breath when passing by a graveyard so as to not breathe in any spirits. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble with that.

There’s a large crowd around the casket. Most stand there teary-eyed, their hands pressed together or surreptitiously wiping at their eyes. A few of them pause to give me a nasty look as I join them. It’s understandable. I am partially to blame for what’s happened after all. Still, I’ve committed myself to face what I’ve done and take responsibility. They’re free to scorn me all they want; I won’t look away again.

I see another person in the crowd eliciting a similar reaction: Alisa, my best friend. If anything, the glares she’s receiving are harsher. I’m impressed by how well she’s weathering them. She’s standing in the middle, a small space cleared just for her by the crowd’s surprise at her audacity to show up at all. Her hands are clasped and her eyes are closed, standing still as a statue. Even though she’s too far away to speak to me, I feel as though we’re communicating all the same.

Stay strong, she’s telling me. We’ll get through this.

But as well intentioned as her words are, there’s only so much they can do. The fact of the matter is, our actions have already cost the world a life, and a precious one at that. What Alisa and I are doing is, at the end of the day, meaningless—a performance for our own self-satisfaction. But truth can arise from performance, and that’s what I’m hoping to achieve.

I make my way to the center of the crowd, to join Alisa in her dedication. Hands clasped, head bowed, I feel like a priest at the head of a procession. I hope that by adopting the correct mannerisms, I can immerse myself in the gravity of the situation. However, after pushing my way to the front, I see something that catches my breath.

The lid is closed because of the state of the body. In place of a direct line of sight to the deceased, a framed photo has been placed on top of the casket. It’s a photo I’m familiar with, and I should be. I’ve seen it countless times at end-of-year house parties. But there’s something wrong with it. Where a smiling boy should be, holding up a trophy from his first ever swim meet, stands in his place a mannequin. Like the kind in department stores, or the wooden dolls artists pose for reference.

Stunned, I reach for the photograph. There must be some kind of mistake. Maybe I just need to take a closer look at it—

A sharp smack knocks my hand away. It’s Kaede, glowering down at me with bloodshot eyes. It’s a scary sight. I wonder for a moment if she’s going to scream at me and bite my head off.

Instead, she speaks to me through gritted teeth. “What do you think you’re doing?”

”T-the picture, it’s…” I swivel my head to look at it again, to double check if I really saw right. Yes, the mannequin is still there. I point to it, encouraging her to look at it herself, but she doesn’t budge. At this point, the crowd has gone completely still, giving the three of us an even wider berth.

I feel a light hand on my shoulder. “Come on,” Alisa whispers into my ear, her revelry broken. “We have to get out of here.”

She’s right. I let her lead me back through the crowd by my hand. But just before they completely close around me, I turn back one last time to the picture. I can’t explain it. A wooden doll, striking exactly the same pose and wearing his clothes. Doesn’t anyone else think it’s odd?

”You shouldn’t even be here,” were the last words I heard from Kaede.