[ WP ] You live in a world where everyone has the way they die written on their wrist from the moment they are born . One day , your parents confess that you did n't have anything written when you were born , and they had something tattooed shortly after .

Long time lurker here. I've been promising to write more often, so I'm going for it'' This is Part I: 
 
 The Funeral 
 
 It was a cold Sunday morning when we buried my grandfather, James Sr. I still remember how numb my hands felt as I gripped the handle on the side of his coffin. It was heavier than I had expected it to be. We grunted as we lifted the coffin out of the back of the hearse and began our slow journey to the church doors. 
 
 My grandfather was a large man, both in stature and in presence, yet at the end he appeared shrunken and frail. The last time I saw him, he was laid out in the hospital bed that had been set up on the first floor of his palatial estate. The bed sat in the middle of the lavish parlor that I remembered my father and uncles sitting in on Christmas nights, smoking cigars and drinking Scotch. It was his favorite room, his private male sanctuary. 
 
 As I waited outside the room, I scratched at my wrist. Laura looked at me. “ Why do you keep doing that? ” she asked. I wasn ’ t sure. It had never bothered me before. And it wasn ’ t like the mark had a warning system that engaged if you were getting close. “ It ’ s just itching. Must be dry skin. ” She nodded and put her hand on my knee. “ Are you ready for this? ” she asked softly. I didn ’ t answer. I just stared at the door and waited. The large wooden door opened abruptly and my father stood in its frame with red solemn eyes. It was my turn. 
 
 He lay there barely moving. This giant of industry. This man who had been one of the most beloved Governors of Pennsylvania. He was now a ghost of a epic figure that he always was to me. I slowly approached and sat in the small wooden chair beside him. He heard me before he saw me. “ Who ’ s that? ” he asked in a small, thin voice. As he turned his head and his eyes met mine, he smiled. “ Jimmy, ” he said, “ my boy. ” I was always his favorite, which came with its own blessings and curses. I grew up with four brothers and 6 uncles, yet I was always the one beside the old man. If you look at any family picture or holiday celebration, I was always seated at the right hand of the father. He reached his gnarled limb towards me to take my hand. 
 
 Then he stopped and the cold look of fear came over his face. His eyes darted quickly to my wrist, which instantly began throbbing. It wasn ’ t a painful throb, but a clear heartbeat pulsing underneath the mark. He sat up with a jerk and grabbed my wrist with more energy that he had exerted in months. His eyes looked wild. Slowly he pulled my wrist cuff back to reveal the mark. I looked down, unsure of what was happening. “ CNU, ” three letters that held the secret of my fate. Coronary. Night. Unconscious. This is how I ’ m going to die. 
 
 He looked at the mark and hissed. “ Lie. ” He quaked with what looked like a mix of fear and rage. Then he blinked. He slowly lowered himself back down and seemed to doze off. I sat there shaking. What on earth could he have meant? I never believed in the supernatural, but I couldn ’ t understand why this dying man would have such a strong reaction like that. What sent a true shiver down my spine, however, was the fact that my wrist had been bothering me all day. Itching and tingling. I looked at the old man and saw that his breath was thin. I could barely catch mine. I sat there, unsure of how to proceed. I somehow struggled to my feet and made my way to the door. 
 
 “ Oh my God! ” Laura cried as I walked out into the hallway. She leapt to her feet and threw me into a tight embrace. I could barely lift my arms to reciprocate. I was trembling. My skin felt cold and tight. There was a pit deep in my stomach. I looked up and met my father ’ s gaze over Laura ’ s shoulder. He smiled weakly at me and took a step forward. “ Let ’ s just go, ” I said, finding some strength. I grabbed my coat and walked quickly out of the room. 
 
 Now I ’ m here, lifting the body of the man who just days ago started my journey towards the truth. As I entered the doors leading into the massive cathedral, I felt no sadness. I couldn ’ t return the looks of sympathy from the thousands that were gathered to pay their respects. I just replayed the same scene that I had for days. That word. Over and over again. “ Lie. ” Just as that word crossed my mind, a sharp and agonizing pain shot through my wrist. I buckled. The handle slipped out of my hand. 
 
 Edit: Paragraph Spacing
