[ WP ] You murder someone , later you are attending their funeral .

Of the many things that I had ever wanted in life, the second thing on that list would be for this bathroom to be bigger. The urge to kick and scream and break the mirror on the wall was so strong, yet somehow I repressed it. God, this bathroom feels like it was literally measured to *just* fit my body in it. 
 
 I maneuvered my right arm up and over my head and managed to turn on the sink, my left hand was shaking something fierce. The tremble was constant, and bordering on violent. I do n't know what it was that was causing it. Well... yes I do. The cool water calmed me, my face looked as red as a beetroot. I could n't bear to look at myself in the mirror, not in the eyes, anyway. 
 
 It was a miracle that I did n't tear the door off its hinges as I burst out of the cell that they called a guest bathroom. People were mingling in the living room, picking small snacks off of the great oval table draped in white where the family had placed several bowls of delicious-looking treats. The ambience was the opposite of somber, several of the guests were laughing with each other. 
 
 It made me sick. Though not sick enough to warrant another visit to that goddamn bathroom. 
 
 Then she came. The mother. She was dressed in black, as one does at a funeral, as I did in my cheap tux that I bought today from the store. Her dress was very plain and formal which was worse for me somehow. She had a soaked tissue in her hand as she spoke to me. 
 
 `` Excuse... me... who... are... you?'' She sniffled after every word. 
 
 `` Oh, I was a friend of your son's. I gave a presentation on climate change at his school once and he took a big interest.'' I quickly replied, everything a lie. God, just seeing her crying reminded me of him. He looked like her, though I never stood next to him talking face to face. When I pushed him, oh, the feeling in my stomach, it was too much. My hand began to tremble again. I looked down and grabbed it by the wrist, it was after 5 seconds that I hastily added, `` I'm so sorry for your loss.'' I hope it sounded sincere. She moaned under her measly sniffles and walked away. 
 
 Maybe he understands that I was trying to help. Wherever he is now, he probably remembers the night more than I do. He was going to jump off that bridge, I had almost talked him out of it. God, if I had had more time, more leeway. No. None of that would have helped. Because I pushed him. Why did I push him? I was reaching out to grab him and pull him back, yet my body broke free. And my intentions were no longer the same as my actions. 
 
 God, if all this had never happened.
