CW: Descriptive Writing Practice: Sam Ho: Friday 25th March 1. Describe the final moments you leave a place for the last time: Eeriness lingered in the air as I had my final moments with her, whilst contemplating a future of grief and gloom. Reflecting on what more I could have done to stop this from happening, a sense of guilt filled my body, almost as if there was a sharp, painful dagger penetrating my chest with culpability and sin. I continually replayed the series of events over and over in my head - daunting flashbacks that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I could have saved her… She was laid to rest in her coffin, with multi-coloured flowers covering her beautiful, flawless body. Rose exuberated happiness and joy to everyone she encountered and was the light at the end of my tunnel that kept me going when life got tough. She was my everything. Possessing brown hair and piercing hazel eyes, she would always stare into my soul and remind me that everything was going to be fine, taking care of me physically, emotionally, mentally. I had let her down. I had not been present when she needed me the most. This was my fault. I was soon tapped on the shoulder, taking me out of my depressive trance, and was asked to say my final goodbyes before she was lowered into the ground to rest. My heart was racing as if I was having palpations in that very moment. A tear rolled down my cheek that stung so badly it was if a cold, ice-like shiver was sent down my spine radiating unbearable anguish throughout my body. Winds whispered and the leaves loathed from the trees overshadowing the coffin as I made my final steps back away from her. It felt like an eternity of sadness, resonating with everyone mourning her loss. In the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her multi-cultural mother who glared at me with a sense of venom and despise, conveying her belief of disapproval towards me. Her mother, possessing the same yet more frail features of her daughter, appeared emotionless and emitted a sinister atmosphere into the air. Her hatred towards me was more evident than ever and it was if she enjoyed watching me feel these thoughts of painful guilt. As the four men, all dressed in black suits, lowered her coffin into the ground, I had never felt a such intense anger at myself for what I had done. Thoughts whirling around in my head of ‘if only I did this…’, ‘I should have done that…’ had never been more prevalent in my train of thinking. The intense screeching of the birds in the air had never been louder, almost as if they were feeling a sense of pride in watching me suffer. Their mocking voices pierced my ears and sent shock waves throughout my body. A shockwave of realisation that I would never see her again. She was finally buried in the private cemetery, one which would inject fear and misery within me forever, as I took my final, guilt-ridden steps away from her place of rest. I knew this event had changed my life for the worse, something that would haunt me until the day I die, something which in my heart of hearts was of my doing but something I would be too frightened to admit. No one would ever know the truth as to how she died – except me. I loved her so much to the point that under my own doing, she had collapsed and never woken up again. This was something I would have to live with for the rest of my life. My life of cowardice. My life of failure. My life of guilt. I already missed her and the thought of holding her gentle, soft hand inflicted deep suffering on me. Feelings of longing and reminisce had already infiltrated my thoughts whilst knowing I would never come to terms with her death.