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Tierney 1

Matthew Tierney

Lynn C. Raymond

Creative Writing Project

24 October 2013

Jace Liberated

Death is not so much a tragedy as it is an inconvenience to all those involved. I

walked straight home from the funeral I skipped the burying of the corpse because I didnt

want to be around pretend-sad people for another hour. As I strolled along the poorly paved

road, I noticed that there was a football game going on. Twenty-two kids running around,

laughing and having the time of their lives. Its funny how we, as humans, tend to focus our

attention very selfishly. Just up the road was a funeral as sad as any other in fact, it was the

only funeral I have ever cried at. Whats worse is I wasnt even mentioned in the will! And

yet these kids are completely oblivious to my pain. I suppose its normal for us to stick to

our own business.

When I got home, the front door was unlocked, which was unusual considering the

fact that we live on a highly trafficked road in Rome. But, as long as my wife is home, I

figured, everything is fine. I slipped in, locking the door behind me and I headed for my

bedroom. There was shattered glass all over the place. Empty whiskey bottles covered the

counter and a broken wine bottle sat on the floor. There werent any other signs of a break

in there wasnt anything missing I called out for my wife.

Vi? no answer. I scuttled into my bedroom and quickly started to change my

clothes. I had just taken my pants off and unbuttoned my shirt when I heard soft footsteps on

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Tierney 2

the hardwood floor in the hall. I stopped. Listened. Honey, is that you? I continued to put

on fresh pants. More footsteps. I paused, silent for a moment, and then quickly reached for

my cell phone.

My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding and when I got the phone to my ear,

I heard, Boo! and leaped ten feet in the air. I turned around so my dastardly wife could see

the blend of fear, anger and relief simultaneously displayed on my face. What are you

doing home already? she asked.

Apparently running into quite an elaborate prank. We stepped out of the bedroom,

Jeez, Vi, look at the mess youve made! She looked around the living room, carefully

surveying the open photo albums and empty booze bottles.

I didnt make this mess! Anyway, Ill clean it up, you need to go see the grave.

No, I just left the funeral. Havent I done enough for today?

Look, Jace she scolded, Its important that you see that gravestone. I could tell

that she was serious, so I left without anymore fuss.

A few steps from the door, I realized I wasnt in my Sunday best but I could hear my

wife saying Youll look like shit either way, so just go! so I didnt turn back. Halfway to the

cemetery, I passed the football field. This time, I felt complete disgust at the innocent kids

who were cheering that they had won their game. They had absolutely no regard for the

tired, disappointed players who had just been defeated. But it didnt matter to me. I was just

as selfish, so I sped past and tended to my own affairs.

By the time I got to the gravestone, there was no one else there. Just some flowers,

a rectangle of recently disturbed dirt, and me. I approached it, holding back my disbelief.

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Tierney 3

There it was. Violet Antonucci / R.I.P. / 23 May 1973 - 6 Dec. 1999 I knelt down, touching

the dirt just above where her head rested. As a tear fell to the earth, my wife put her hand

on my shoulder. Ive never felt so empty, I whispered as I somehow gathered the strength

to stand up to face her. Ill miss you more than anything.

Goodbye, Jace. She kissed my cheek and faded away, forever.