an original piece by Dejana Talis -not to be used without permission- She wore red to the funeral. She said, “This was his favorite dress.” She said, “He used to tell me I was a perfect red rose.” The older ladies in black sent steely scoffs of disapproval through seas of crocodile tears. “Shameful.” “Disrespectful.” “If he could see this…” She only smiled as they cursed her immodesty. She said, “He would not want me to mourn.” She said, “They are here to honor his death. “I am here to honor his life.” The red dress left a trail of roses through the rain as I watched her walk away. This piece of original fiction is the sole property of Dejana Talis.