I’ve thought of death countless times.
Weird, is it not?
Fascination of death is something a person should not even be.
Au contraire, my lord.
How often does one thought of death?
What faces my loved ones would make?
How would I die?
What would the world be doing when I die?
How would a person see me when they see I’m dying right before their eyes?
I’ve imagined myself on the hospital bed a dozen times.
The eyes.
The eyes that shatter a blood of tears of my beloved mother.
A single tear dropped on my father’s face.
My cold-hearted brother whose face is nothing but numb.
My best friend, as her body dropped on the floor.
The shocking face of the boy I loved at the age of sixteen.
And math. Who will be missing my confused face every time I do them.
I’ve imagined what my funeral would be like.
A quiet morning at 9 am.
The world would be at school, office, and alive.
My father would likely give a speech and tell silly stories of what we’re both doing when I
was alive.
It would last an hour or two.
A funeral where instead of sadness,
it brings laughter and joy to our memories together.
Pojok Sastra adalah kolom terbuka untuk tulisan jenis puisi, resensi, cerita pendek, dan opini. Dikurasi langsung oleh redaksi Economica.id.
