When my mother died, they had to take me kicking and screaming to the chapel. I could have sworn I was actually screaming on the way there, but everyone claims that my mouth was just open wide and that I thrashed around like the devil himself was trying to rip my body apart from the inside out. I had nightmares before she died and I had them after she died. Always this black gate with a swinging door what would slam shut when I tried to enter. With her on the other side, arms outstretched. I shiver just thinking about it. Why they wanted me to go to the funeral so badly is something I'll never know. I know that I'm thankful that I was crying to hard to see us pass through that black gate as we walked up the path to the church. In my mind, the weeds made the path smaller and the popped up inbetween the cracks, making our way unsteady. I could hear the bricks stumbling off the frame of the church. Them crashing to the ground and breaking. Turning into dust like my mother would turn into dust. I heard the bell ring out clear and bright before the tremors caused a crack down the side and it swayed like a pendulum of doom. I swear on everything that I heard the rumble of thunder and clouds darker than coal pushing closer to me. I felt the raindrops mix with my tears. The thunder made my hair stand on end and when I got to the threshold of the door, I collapsed. The devil had won.