Hey everyone this has been my first attempt at writing in a while. Please let me know what you think!

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Chapter One

When I was little I didn't believe bad things happened to good people.

It was as if my childhood beliefs were mocking me as I stood with numb legs at Cedar Ridge Cemetery.

My teeth chattered and I was soaked to the bone. The bitter raindrops stung my eyes. My cheeks were dripping with rainwater, though surprisingly none of it was mixed with tears. I wasn't letting myself cry. I hadn't felt the need to yet.

"Honey, it's unhealthy not to cry when something sad happens," my Aunt Blair had told me the night she arrived for the funeral.

"It doesn't matter," I had answered her quietly. That had been one of the few times I've spoken since the incident.

My family's funeral -- something I would have never thought I'd have to stand and watch, hopelessly left with nothing to do but mourn. Then again I don't think it would be normal to think about something so morbid. I certainly didn't. Bad things weren't supposed to happen to my family -- they were good people.

I closed my eyes and held my breath as all three of their coffins were slowly lowered into neatly dug out graves. The earthy aroma of the fresh dirt mixed with the dewy smell of rain somehow made me feel tranquil. Maybe if I just lay down for a moment, I could sleep this all away. When I woke up, everything would be back to normal.

There was a soft thud, which caused me to open my eyes. Their coffins were no longer visible, and they had hit the bottom of the graves. Now it was official. Of course, it was really actually official the moment the doctor told me that there was nothing more he could do to save them. They were gone. I refused to believe him at first.

But here I am, faced with hard and cruel reality. I would never see my mom again, the carefree and eccentric woman that raised me. I would never see my dad, the calm and somber one who helped me with schoolwork and the logistics of life. I wouldn't see my brother, Jesse, my best friend, who taught me how to play sports and how to be tougher then most men.

I took a slow shuddering breath, calming myself. I desperately wanted to be caught in a dream. I can't tell you how many times I've pinched myself just to make sure. All I've ended up with are a couple sore bruises.

I pulled my eyes away from the burial site, and looked at the people around me instead. Relatives, friends and people who seemed to know me even though I had no clue who they were, all gathered around the three headstones. Some were gazing at me with worried and skeptic expressions. I guess they were wondering how I was going to handle things. Will she have a mental breakdown? Why isn't she crying? Is she not sad that her whole family just died? Does she even realize what's going on? Those are the questions I would be asking, because I didn't even know the answers myself.

To be honest, I haven't thought about it -- how I was going to handle my family's death. I haven't thought about anything. My head felt so hallow and dazed. It was as though part of me died with them, and the other part of me was living as some kind of shadow, only halfway alive.

"Evangeline," the priest whispered quietly in my ear, "do you have anything you would like to say?"

I shook my head. There were no words to describe the things I wanted to say.

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