Elijah hated funerals.

Of course, no one likes funerals, but he had a personal vendetta against them. It wasn't for the black clothes, the sorrow, or the tears. It wasn't because of the relatives he had never seen. He despised funerals because he despised death.

Death is such a horrible, cruel, unfair thing. It always seems to go after the genuine, kind-hearted people. It never kills monsters; it never shreds who deserves it. If death had a fucking sense of duty and some good morals, it could avoid and punish so much evil.

Death is coward; death is ugly. It only knows how to take, and never to give. It only knows how to leave you in pieces, and doesn't care about fixing you up.

It was his grandfather's burial. He had passed away-no, two sons of bitches, burglars, had murdered him. He died with a gun in his face, utterly terrified. Elijah felt hatred seep into his bones when he heard the news. He wanted to find those two and teach them not to mess with him.

The family spoke in hushed words during the reunion after the funeral. His mom silently cried by his side, trying to be strong for her siblings and children. She could not cry; she would not weep. She was the strongest, the older sister, the role model. She could not show weakness, not when others needed her.

His grandpa was such a genuine, loving person. Of his few childhood memories, most of them were in his house, in the backyard, playing with his dog, Dusky, or the man, himself. He would always be there if Elijah or his mom needed. He was a good man, and Elijah loved him deeply. He couldn't think of a world without him. He knew his mom felt the same.

He sighed deeply, taking her hand into his. He pulled her to the back of the house, to their garden, and sat with her in one of the steps of the stairs of the house.

She took a deep breath and looked up, trying to hold back tears. Elijah lied his head on her shoulder, holding her in a half-hug.

"I just need some time." She said, and he merely nodded, getting up from where he was. The people were already leaving. His mom managed to hold up until the end.

He sat on the sofa, beside his sister. His aunt, Samirah, showed something to her, with tears in her eyes. "He didn't like taking pictures of himself, but we convinced him to take one that day." She said. "It is the last one before he..."

She cried a bit more then, not being able to finish her sentence.

"Can I have a copy?" Alex asked, and Samirah nodded.

"I made one for everyone. Here you go." She said, wiping her tears with her scarf. "I have to go now. Thank's for listening to an old woman's babble."

Alex smiled sadly. "It's okay." She said holding one of her aunt's hand; sometimes Elijah envied the natural ability Alex had with words and feelings. He was nothing like that. He could not comfort people, because he, himself, didn't want to be supported like that. There was no necessity; Elijah was no fragile human.

The truth was that Elijah could not grieve at funerals. He needed to be alone, he needed to process all of the information.

His aunt soon left, and Alex gazed at the photograph. "He looks genuinely happy." She said, tears welling up in her eyes.

She was too much like their mother. Emotional, sensitive, but always trying to be strong for those who needed it. Elijah didn't understand how someone could be that selfless, placing other people's needs before their own. He would never be capable of being that kind and gentle.

She rose up from where she sat and left the living room without a word. Elijah did not try to follow her since Alex presumably just needed some time to sort everything out.

He took that photograph from the coffee table, examining it thoroughly. He was in his house, sitting on his armchair, smiling with his mouth wide open, probably laughing at some joke. Elijah sighed. How could that man pass away so abruptly?

Before he put the photograph back in its former place, he noticed something strange in the picture. There was, suddenly, a hanging shadow in the back of the image, as if there was somebody there. It had a humanoid shape, dark against the yellow wall of his grandfather's home.

Elijah stared at the shape of someone who didn't exist; at least, not in that photo. After mere seconds gazing at it, he felt a sharp pain on his left temple. He groaned, pressing the hurting place with one of his hands, but it only grew more and more at every passing second.

His vision got obscured, and he could not feel his hands or legs anymore. He attempted to get up, but it was to no avail. The lancinating pain of an unforeseen migraine managed to get him to his knees.

He tried to call someone for help, but he just spluttered nonsense.

Before his vision grew darker, he managed to see a crow hitting the living room's window, and then he was gone.