Eighty-Five

Adonis

I carefully positioned my dad's portrait on the easel, and my mind raced with emotions. My body trembled, and I felt self-conscious under the gaze of the others. I tried to limit my responses to brief nods or monosyllabic answers, avoiding eye contact and hoping to minimize the attention on me.

Pack mates and my dad’s friends gathered for his funeral. We sat on rows of velvet-colored chairs with mourners dressed in formal black attire.

Axton, Natalia, and Fred were behind all the preparation. Axton got a lavish coffin that had a royal crest. Natalia took care of refreshments and flower arrangements, and the royal guards stood at attention with their uniforms decorated with medals.

I watched everyone pay their respects with gentle sobs and sniffles. The elders began prayers and the ceremonial chanting, and my mind was far away, filled with bitterness.

Everyone expected an emotional outburst from me, but I managed my grief well. After all, I’ve been in that state for weeks.

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