Short Story - A Story in 100 Words

I wander from the living room out to the porch, stepping around the gathered mourners so as not to disturb them from their musings. The atmosphere is one of restrained contemplations.

The mourners mill through the house and occasionally into the garden, demonstrating their pain and loss with their presence alone. Their deepest feelings and fears remain unshared.

Unspoken.

As I wander, the occasional whispered remark reaches my ears. I feel they are spoken in earnest, yet the speakers look back through rose coloured glasses.

“That’s not how it happened,” I murmur. “You’re wrong!”

But the dead have no voice.