Pity For The Living: One-shot

Angela pushed her hair out her face and stared down at the grave in front of her. It was a year and a half since her mother died. A year and a half since she started to pick back up the pieces of her life. She could still hear the screeching of the car tires barreling towards the car as she and her mother argued tirelessly over the fact she had married young. She could still hear her mother yelling that she was making the biggest decision of her life and she wished she had listen to the woman. It was only a few months after her mother’s death did she file for divorce and packed up that old part of her life. Granted, she spent most of her new life running trying to escape the past, but all it brought her was non-stop crying and regret.

She didn’t plan on returning on Los Angeles at all. She didn’t even want to visit her mother’s grave but driving by the cemetery had compelled her to stop and visit the gravesite of her mother. She hadn’t shed a single tear since she stepped onto the fading green grass. She simply stared at the headstone in silence battling with her own thoughts. She didn’t notice the people who passed her by or the phone that rung continuously in her bag. She simply stared at the headstone contemplating why she was spending her time standing in front of the grave of someone who was long gone.

She stuck her hands in her pocket burying her face in her coat. The fact that she was also standing out in the cold was weighing heavily on her mind but she still hadn’t found a reason to walk away from the heavy weight of  the grave. Her eyes drifted from the grave for a moment settling on a dying oak tree a few feet in front of her. Her amber eyes scrutinized the almost mangy looking tree before letting her burning gaze drop back down to the grave stone in front of her.

“I’ve never seen anyone come to a cemetery and look angry before,” a small voice walked up beside her. Angela turned her head slightly to find a woman with short blonde hair standing beside her. She was in her late forties wearing a heavy black jacket that was ankle length. Angela raised a questioning brow at the woman before turning her gaze back to the grave.

“Your mother was a nice woman.” Angela froze for a second before turning her entire body towards the woman.

“She was a fool,” she spat out coldly. The woman pulled back slightly at the accusation to collect herself.

“She was your mother,” the stranger reminded her and Angela turned away from her. She glared at the grave before walking away. 

“She was still a fool,” she muttered to herself.