The Sunday Whirl

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Stopping to read the praiseworthy inscription on the face of the tombstone, she thought, “this death memento is pure fiction”. Even the prayer vigil held was an abomination in her eyes. There were barriers set up, but some protesters climbed over them, with a few finding ways to disrupt the mourners’ activities. As “facts” stated in his books, along with supposed letters of reward, were dragged out—made up versions of his achievements, she looked on at the sorrowful. Her facial expression incredulous to think his lying tongue spouted only hate and division. Even in death he seemed to have won.

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