I stood at the edge of the steps, watching the rain, hearing the thunder, witnessing the lightning. I'm my father's daughter. I'm just like him. We would stand on these same steps, watching these same storms. Breathing in the rain, the sweet, sweet rain. Everything was sweet. The wind would blow right threw us, as if we were part of the storm. Like were those same exact raindrops, falling from the sky. But all this sweet rain, turned bitter. Like no rainbow after the rain and sunshine. Like war and no peace. Pure bitterness. And no can stop it. You can stop death. It just happens. It's nature. It's like a thunderstorm. Not many people like it. Some do. Death; It helps some, it breaks others. But accept death. It's our key to leave the exit door of life. Some people are given the key, when the time is right. Others grab that key and leave, early. Too early. My father grabbed that key and ran.
I clasped my hand around my heart locket that hung around my neck, as I stood outside the church. I watched as my once perfectly dry black dress, began to become soaked. It was raining and I didn't care. I wanted to be outside anyways because if I started to cry, no one would know the difference. But who wouldn't cry at their own father's funeral? I just wanted to be alone, away from the church, at home, standing on my steps, watching the storm roll in, with him, my father. But all my conscience could do was yell at me. Not going to happen Kenley! Just stop and grow up. Dad left for a reason obviously. Don’t be such a baby. “…But I love him.” I whispered to myself. Out of nowhere, everyone, single file, walked out of the church, down their long stone walkway. They were all holding an unlit candle, singing "Smile," by Michael Jackson. Dad's favorite. I couldn't stand the pain any longer. A loud crack of thunder boomed above us, then a strike of lightning. It was a sign. My father. He always would say "If you can't stand the pain, run. Run the pain away." And that's exactly what I did. My fists clenched with rage. My dad didn't want this type of ceremony! All warm and friendly! NO! He didn't even want to be remembered! Even though those people singing were my family, I hated them. So, I ran. I took off my black shoes and threw them at the crowd. Gasps and screaming came in response. I hated them too. I hated everything right then and there. Everything, except my Father and The Storm. I ran. I ran from the church to my house. It was nice to feel the cool rain beat against my pale, hot skin as I ran. To hear the thunder roar above me and the strikes of lightning lead me home, I felt safe.
My long, flaming, red hair flew behind me as I ran. My feet were numb, due to the fact that my naked feet had been pounding against the cold wet concrete. I slowed my legs and stopped at a near mini-mart. I quickly turned around to see if anyone was following me, no one. They probably didn't care. My mom thought I was crazy. I've seen at least 10 therapists, but the only one who could calm my nerves was my father. Memories flooded back into my head, but I pushed them out. There was no way, I, Kenley, was going to cry again. I was a strong woman, unlike my mother, who has been sobbing endlessly, every night. I blew away a stray piece of hair and rubbed my eyes. Drops of sweat were scattered throughout my face, despite the strong coldness. I entered the mini-mart to the ring of its bell.
"She'll come back. I promise." Kenley's mother wringed her wrists as she calmed down the funeral guests. "Please settle down everyone. Please. My daughter just ran away!" Her voice went from quivering, to yelling. Finally, she shoved everyone out of the way and hopped in her car. "I'm not losing another person close to me!" She clenched the steering wheeled and set forward down Kenley's path.
"Um... I'll take two Lucky Strikes, and a Crossword." I scanned the selection of scratch tickets. I'll need money for my travel, and I might as well take some more chances. The man scanned me over, and hesitated to give me the tickets. "Of course I'm 18!" I slammed my fist on the counter and threw a $5 bill at him. "Hand 'em over." He handed me the tickets in fear and insisted he wanted "no trouble." I stomped outside the mini-mart and slumped down to the ground outside its glass doors. I shoved my hand into my dress pocket in search of a coin. I pulled out a nickel. I carefully scratched away each mark, praying for a winner. Then, I remembered, my father always bought me these for my birthdays. I smiled softly down at the tickets and scratched the rest. One-hundred dollars. I sprung up from my spot and screamed. "YES!" I ran back into the mini-mart and got my money. I smiled at the man working and tipped him $5. I skipped outside, twirling my ugly, wet, wrinkled black dress. Then I stopped. I stopped breathing and saw her, my mother. She was standing there, smoking a cigar, one of my father's cigars that no one ever touched except him. She was leaning against the gas pump as she filled up my father's truck that only HE drove. I dropped the money and lunged towards her. "NO!" I screamed. "THAT'S DADS!" I knocked the cigar out of her mouth. I kicked the wheel of the truck and smashed a window with my raging fist. She ran over and grabbed my hair. I turned towards her and she slapped me. Her soft delicate hands, the hands that stroked my hair at night when I had a bad dream, slapped me. I took one step back, realizing what I had just happened and my eyes clouded up. She betrayed me. Even though I ran away, she physically hurt me, my own mother. I took another step back and the tears started to stream down my face. And then, I ran out into the road, stopping in mid-tracks. A large truck came barreling towards me. Its bright hot head lights blinded me, but I stood still. The rain fell on my head harder than it ever had before. I heard a loud scream and then everything went black.