The grass. I lay on the soft, green grass. I hear the wind as it passes by whispering little things in my ear. The warm, golden sun drops drops of golden flakes on my face. Mom calls me in the house. I walk into the sweet smell of cinnamon pie and fresh produce from the garden. Mom tells me to dig in and enjoy every bite while we still had time. Then, darkness. The sun was no longer smiling, the wind no longer sang, the grass no longer covered over the dark soil like it was protecting it. And as I sat in front of the red velvet casing, I tried to remember the last time I heard her sing or even scowl me for dressing the cat. Everything, without her was black. Dull. Tasteless.
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