When Spring becomes Winter - (No)NaBloPoMo Day 7

The worst kind of deaths are the ones that seem senseless and showcase the cosmos at its most cruel. You can always tell by the funerals when the young have fallen. The parking lot overflows. The queue to pay respects weaves through multiple rooms and there are teenagers and grandparents and everyone feels the cold flutter of the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead.

A crystal clear light surrounds every coffin filled with a beautiful child. Its glow illuminates life's list of Most Important. All the bullshit fades into the shadows.

Or it should.