The sky was grey with dark clouds and the day was grey with bleak faces. They were were expressionless, neutral. They were all the same face, downcast and sorrowful, standing around a hole in the ground.
The coffin before them was unmistakably a child’s coffin. It was a white thing, not the most expensive type. It was the type used when they didn’t have the money to give a proper send off. They’d wanted to cremate the girl. They hadn’t wanted to spend money all of this, but someone high above the food chained had cleared it, and it was so.
Sorrow expanded in the air as eyes bore into the wood of the thing. The paint was already peeling. It was peeling much too fast. Paint came off second by second the long they stared. The bare wood beneath in began to show much too quickly. The casket was going to disintegrate. They watched as the white became brown, and the brown began to shred itself as well. They watched without noticing a thing.
A group of children looked on from a far. Their screams ripped at the air. They were screaming at the expressionless adults. The adults didn’t notice. The adults didn’t care. Slowly, holes began to form in the wood of the coffin. The wood began to splinter and the coffin began to smash itself into little bits, slowly and surely. As the thing disintegrated, the insides became visible, and the children screamed in outrage. As the coffin smashed itself into a million little chips, the children expected to see something, but they didn’t know what. They didn’t see her body. It wasn’t there. It’d been thrown out of existence, and the officials didn’t care.
The officials began to stand up, some leaving the funeral scene right again, not interested being present for the aftermath. A few surrounded the screaming children. They didn’t speak as they clasped the kids’ hands behind their backs. They didn’t utter a world as they walked the kids forward and walked them towards the edge the cemetery.
The children were little more than prisoners as they were lead away from the memorial garden. Some looked back at the coffin and cried until their eyes were dry with the tears of blood smeared across their pale faces. Some struggled and fought. They kicked and bit had to be subdued. As they were subdued, they were injected with something by syringe and became dazed and quiet.
The majority of them didn’t cry or fight. They didn’t have to rid their eyes of tears. They weren’t injected with medications to keep them quiet. They were lead on by their captors, no energy left to fight against the injustice they were being forced to endure. They had run out of energy. There had been a time when these children were fighters. There had been a time when they would’ve kicked and screamed, or wiped at their own tears. That time had died. Instead, they were quiet and controlled, willing to be handled as the prisoners they were.