Title: Another Funeral
Author: Michelle K.
Site: http://glimmershine.tripod.com
Archive: Let me know where, so I can visit.
Rating: PG
Genre: Sara. Angst.
Summary: A defining moment in Sara's life.
Disclaimer: 'CSI' is not mine. Don't sue.
Notes: This was a response to Jae Gecko's 500-word 'defining moment' challenge. This, though, is 405 words. Damn.

*

She's been to funerals before.

At eight, it was her grandmother. At eleven, it was her aunt. And at fifteen, it was a distant cousin.

Now, she's seventeen. And she's watching her best friend - really, her only friend - being lowered into the ground.

She's been to funerals before, but this one is different. The previous ones were expected, deaths caused by prolonged illnesses that her parents never wanted to discuss.

This, however, was sudden. And, from what she's read and overheard, it was brutal.

Her parents still don't want to discuss it.

Sara feels an arm around her shoulders; she looks over to see her mother, eyes wide with sympathy. "You can cry, Sara," she says. "It's okay to cry."

She doesn't respond. But, if she could speak, she'd tell her that she's cried already. She's cried after everyone else had gone to sleep; she's cried with her head buried in the pillow, her hands balled into tight fists.

She's cried. And she knows it would be okay to cry now, but she can't manage to let herself cry in front of so many others. So many people she doesn't know. Distant relatives of Karen's, she surmises. People Karen probably met once or twice, if ever.

No. She can't cry in front of strangers. Karen was the only person she'd ever felt comfortable crying with, really. She was the only person who'd ever accepted her; the only person who'd told her she loved her.

Her only real friend. Her only real friend was attacked, stabbed, and left for dead.

Her only real friend was killed. In the dark recesses of her brain, she can imagine Karen's pain. She can imagine the blood soaking her clothes, her begging for mercy in harsh whispers. And part of her can imagine the killer. She can imagine cold, unfeeling eyes, strong hands clenching a sharp weapon.

She can imagine everything.

Words of ashes and dust breeze past her ears, not drowning out the plea that's ringing inside her head.

'Please let somebody catch this bastard. Please.'

Part of her wants to be the one to do it. Wants to be the one who sets a trap for him to fall in. But she knows she can't.

'Please,' she thinks again.

Even with the strangers looming around her, tears fall from her eyes.

She's been to funerals before.

But this is the one she'll never forget.

THE END