"Where,
O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"
As
she walked down the isle of the funeral home, Emma felt nothing. She
motioned her empty heart and hardened soul through the rituals of the
ceremony. People she knew walked by. People she never knew walked by.
They bawled openly in front of her, shook her hands, and hugged her
tight. They spoke words of commemoration and consolation. Emma was
not there. She was cowering in a corner, hiding from all these
hypocrites who had never lost a close relative yet dared to promise
her that everything would be alright.
