And though he did pass some time musing over the unfamiliar faces' relations with Lucius Blaque, it wasn't what interested him the most. What the young man found most interesting about the many people who gathered around the costly black coffin was the crowd's many expressions.
The expressions were not typical faces one would see at a funeral. There were a couple people who seemed to be mourning, to some extent, but most of the expressions seen were those of shock. Many seemed confused. A few seemed frightened while others seemed relieved. And then there were some whose expression was completely blank. BUt these blank looks were not caused by some insensitivity and heartless nature but rather by an incapability to feel emotion. And it was perfectly understandable. Lucius Blaque, a man who had seemed invincible and almost godlike, had not only passed away but very suddenly and unnatrually as well. Half the people at the funeral hadn't finished processing the fact that Lucius was dead. So of course they can't feel for something they don't fully comprehend yet. It's when it all finally sinks in that there will be dilemas.
"Do you not like the sun?" The voice seemed to come from nowhere.
Half startled, the young business man searched for the speaker. It wasn't until he looked down that he noticed a short, thin woman with hair that had almost completely grayed and wrinkles forming on a face that used to be pretty. She was sitting down by another tree nearby. She wore a long, modest black dress and fake pearls with matching earings.
"I beg your pardon?"
The woman struggled to rise. Her small hands clutched onto the tree for support as she slowly made her way up. "I noticed you watching the funeral from here under all the trees like there was something you were hiding from. I thought maybe you didn't like the exposure to the sun."
The young man narrowed his eyes as the woman slowly approached him. He had a sudden lack of words as he scrutinized her.
The woman looked away from him after a moment of silence. She looked a bit ashamed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry."
The young man tilted his head, only slightly, to the side as he passed his eyes over the woman and then stopped suddenly when her eyes grabbed his attention. They were distictive eyes, unique in every sense. Her irises were an a rare shade of light brown that seemed to glow from within. One could even say her irises were a golden color. But it wasn't the gold color of her irises that interested the young man. It was the strange familiarity of them that kept his eyes locked on her. Despite the rarity of them, he knew her eyes were a pair he'd seen countless times. They were a pair of eyes he knew too well. They were the eyes of Lucius Blaque.
"You're his mother."
She was speechless for a while. She continuously shifted her weight from foot to foot until she brought out her hand and held it out before the young man. "Hello, I'm Celest Blaque, and yes, Lucius Blaque is my son." She paused. "Was my son."
The young man looked down at Celest's hand. He was reluctant as he took a hold of her tiny hand and very quickly shook it.
"Pleased to make your aquaintance, Ms. Blaque."
There was another moment of long silence. The young man dug into his pocket and searched for the box of cigarettes that he always carried with him.
"I, uh . . ." Celest watched as he brought out the pack of cigarettes. He offered her one and she immediately refused it. She continued, "Did . . . did you know him?"
"Know who?" the young man asked as he removed the cigarette he had popped into his mouth only a few seonds ago.
"My son."
"I did."
Celest shuffled a bit. She seemed a bit nervous. The young man watched her from the corner of his eyes. He blew out a cloud of smoke and Celest let out an ackward laugh.
"You . . . do you want to know something funny." The young man was silent, but she continued. "I, um, I never really knew my son. Well, I knew him, but not . . . not for very long. He ran away from home when he was eleven." She took in a deep breath. "How is it that you knew my son?"
The young man let out another cloud of smoke and then stared at his ciagrette as he considered his answer. "We were close."
"You mean, you two were friends?"
"Sometimes," he replied. "But not always."
Celest looked puzzeled.
"Your son was . . . difficult. He was a very comples man," he explained. "I must admit that more than often Lucius was my worst enemy."
"Oh."
Celest seemed saddened by what the young man told her and he noticed. He added, "He was a genius, though, very clever. And he was rich, as well. He was just . . . complex."
"Ah, I see. Or at least, I think I do."
The expressions were not typical faces one would see at a funeral. There were a couple people who seemed to be mourning, to some extent, but most of the expressions seen were those of shock. Many seemed confused. A few seemed frightened while others seemed relieved. And then there were some whose expression was completely blank. BUt these blank looks were not caused by some insensitivity and heartless nature but rather by an incapability to feel emotion. And it was perfectly understandable. Lucius Blaque, a man who had seemed invincible and almost godlike, had not only passed away but very suddenly and unnatrually as well. Half the people at the funeral hadn't finished processing the fact that Lucius was dead. So of course they can't feel for something they don't fully comprehend yet. It's when it all finally sinks in that there will be dilemas.
"Do you not like the sun?" The voice seemed to come from nowhere.
Half startled, the young business man searched for the speaker. It wasn't until he looked down that he noticed a short, thin woman with hair that had almost completely grayed and wrinkles forming on a face that used to be pretty. She was sitting down by another tree nearby. She wore a long, modest black dress and fake pearls with matching earings.
"I beg your pardon?"
The woman struggled to rise. Her small hands clutched onto the tree for support as she slowly made her way up. "I noticed you watching the funeral from here under all the trees like there was something you were hiding from. I thought maybe you didn't like the exposure to the sun."
The young man narrowed his eyes as the woman slowly approached him. He had a sudden lack of words as he scrutinized her.
The woman looked away from him after a moment of silence. She looked a bit ashamed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry."
The young man tilted his head, only slightly, to the side as he passed his eyes over the woman and then stopped suddenly when her eyes grabbed his attention. They were distictive eyes, unique in every sense. Her irises were an a rare shade of light brown that seemed to glow from within. One could even say her irises were a golden color. But it wasn't the gold color of her irises that interested the young man. It was the strange familiarity of them that kept his eyes locked on her. Despite the rarity of them, he knew her eyes were a pair he'd seen countless times. They were a pair of eyes he knew too well. They were the eyes of Lucius Blaque.
"You're his mother."
She was speechless for a while. She continuously shifted her weight from foot to foot until she brought out her hand and held it out before the young man. "Hello, I'm Celest Blaque, and yes, Lucius Blaque is my son." She paused. "Was my son."
The young man looked down at Celest's hand. He was reluctant as he took a hold of her tiny hand and very quickly shook it.
"Pleased to make your aquaintance, Ms. Blaque."
There was another moment of long silence. The young man dug into his pocket and searched for the box of cigarettes that he always carried with him.
"I, uh . . ." Celest watched as he brought out the pack of cigarettes. He offered her one and she immediately refused it. She continued, "Did . . . did you know him?"
"Know who?" the young man asked as he removed the cigarette he had popped into his mouth only a few seonds ago.
"My son."
"I did."
Celest shuffled a bit. She seemed a bit nervous. The young man watched her from the corner of his eyes. He blew out a cloud of smoke and Celest let out an ackward laugh.
"You . . . do you want to know something funny." The young man was silent, but she continued. "I, um, I never really knew my son. Well, I knew him, but not . . . not for very long. He ran away from home when he was eleven." She took in a deep breath. "How is it that you knew my son?"
The young man let out another cloud of smoke and then stared at his ciagrette as he considered his answer. "We were close."
"You mean, you two were friends?"
"Sometimes," he replied. "But not always."
Celest looked puzzeled.
"Your son was . . . difficult. He was a very comples man," he explained. "I must admit that more than often Lucius was my worst enemy."
"Oh."
Celest seemed saddened by what the young man told her and he noticed. He added, "He was a genius, though, very clever. And he was rich, as well. He was just . . . complex."
"Ah, I see. Or at least, I think I do."
