Laughing at Death

By Jonathan Lion

She was buried three blocks from the school. I stood at her grave. There were five years of teaching in her casket. My teacher murdered by my friend. My grief split brain was damaged; one side wanted revenge, the other comfort. I watched a butterfly, gentle and firm like her, land on her stone hat. The word “why” occupied my thoughts and nightmares. I turned to leave when I heard a chuckle behind me. I whipped around. No one. I looked at her tombstone’s engravings and smiled as I read, “Here lies Sarah Yue who taught us to laugh at death.”