Destiny by Chance By Margaret Ferguson

It was a beautiful day. A perfect day by all rights. However, the beauty of the day was overshadowed by the ashen mood of those standing before the dark holes dug into the cold, hard ground. Though surrounded by dozens of family and friends, the green carpet of fake grass and the green manufactured canopy that sheltered them from the sun were a bitter reminder of why they were there what had to be done. Brother Bob refused to look down at her as he spoke. Its Gods will, he repeated over and over in his head. How could he even entertain, much less utter those words ever again Words that he, as a pastor, now questioned. He stood over them, speaking words of amenity to the mourning crowd. He prayed for strength. For her, for their family. He prayed silently for strength for himself. There were those who heard his words as babbling and would find no value in them. And then there were those that would take comfort in them, finding strength and encouragement in their meaning. His eyes finally looked down at the young widow. What could he possibly say to diminish her grief She sat perfectly still, numb from the events of the day. She didnt want to be there. She couldnt believe. It was too much. The words the preacher spoke were jumbled mutterings, falling silent around her. Her eyes rested on the thin embroidered, cotton handkerchief clutched between her fingers, moist with her tears. A hand touched hers, and she looked up, if only for a fraction of a moment. The face seemed oddly familiar, sweat delicately dampening his furrowed brow. His hand squeezed hers gently as he smiled just slightly though it seemed a forced, sad smile. How could he smile How could anyone Faces knelt before her, and talked above her, around her. More words; scripted, contrived, formulated, all saying the same thing. Prepared speeches and condolences, spit out over and over, pathetic attempts meant to comfort were simply verbal vomit that made her want to scream