Short Stories: The Three Unused Coverings

“How do I write a tribute to death?” I pondered in her room looking at the pictures hanging on the wall. There she was in her matriculation gown smiling and looking alive. I hissed and looked away so the tears don’t see the picture too.
I sat on her bed and my hands went under her pillows, there I found a journal. I flipped the cover open and there was an inscription boldly written on the first page ‘I DO NOT OWN A BEAUTIFUL HANDWRITING.’ I was scared to continue with what I had started, flipping through to finally see why she died and all other things about us. So I dropped the book back and picked a pen out of my pocket, dragged the chair to the reading table and on the empty sheet of paper I began: I am the most beautiful being…
No! I was the most beautiful being.
I owned everything and everything
and everything that belonged to everything.
I had family, I had love, I had her and had words.
Then you, death
, you lustily winked at her,
gave her a rope, a chair and a fan.
She thinks you’re beautiful now.
She thinks you own everything.
She thinks you’re waiting for me outside this door.
So I say it again, you’re ugly.
You’re ugly and that is why you made her kill herself.

Ruddapoet

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