Luca
Death is imminent. It comes for us all, and when it does, it brings with it grief, hurling it at those that love us like a gust of heavy wind on our faces. I look at my dad, uncle Rom and Raph standing outside, waiting for us to join them so we can all attend the burial of a man who'd been their doctor when they decided the way out of poverty was in organized crime.
He was a good man, they said—a man with a sense of humour, non-judgemental, and one who understood loyalty.
I watch my dad light up another cigarette when I feel my mom's presence on my left. I know it's her because of her perfume, a subtle whiff of lilac flower laced with something fruity. I'm sure there are more ingredients to the fragrance, but I don't know much more.
"I feel so bad for them," she whispers in a
Aksara