ASHES AND FUNERALS

THEO’S POINT OF VIEW. Black umbrellas lined the chapel cathedral as the sound of wailing women filled the air. I wanted to cut my own ears off at the sound. The priest droned on and on about how great Phillip Kingswell was, about how kind he was, and how he was currently in the bosom of heaven. It almost made me smile, because I knew one thing they didn’t: Phillip was in hell, and he would rot there for eternity. I would give anything to hear his screams of agony, the very ones my mother and sister had for years, up until I ended that fucker. “We can be assured that a man as good and honourable as Phillip will be dearly remembered for his good works and how kind he was to everyone around him. Our thoughts and prayers will be with his family in this trying time.” The priest said, making me think about how every single person here knew in one way or another that my mother had been suffering under that tyrant’s thumb, but instead of offering a helping hand, chose to look away. My maternal