I was ten when I first visited a cemetery and decided it was the most repulsive place to be; the saddest, too. There was death, tears, and reddish grey clouds. My second visit wasn't any different. It has been seven months since then. I didn't want to be here again but Dr Robert thinks I should talk to my parents.

"It will help you heal", he said.

I think he knows there are certain issues I never talked to them about.

"They're dead. I don't understand how talking to them could possibly help me".

"Anya, don't forget that you're not doing this for them. You're doing this for yourself".

I wonder if Dr Robert would ask me about these issues in the next session. I think he's been waiting for the right time.

Mama and Papa were placed close to the mausoleum, next to each other beneath an old tree. Had it been up to them, they would've chosen a different spot. They always hated standing beneath trees because every time they did, they ended up returning home with bird poop on their clothes.

I don't know where my brother is. Victor said they never found him. The officers searched for days.

It's unfortunate, isn't it? I read the odds of a plane crash are one in a million. And some say that almost 90 per cent of plane crashes are survivable. I wonder if my parents and my brother were the most unlucky ones on the plane that day. I can't think of anything else.

I remember writing an article on human decomposition after one month of mourning. My parents must be reduced to bones now. First, the internal organs decompose. Then, the body starts to bloat and blood-containing foam starts to leak from mouth and nose. The body turns from green to red. The blood decomposes. The organs in the abdomen accumulate gas. Then, the nails and teeth fall out. And then, the body starts to liquefy.

 My brother would not want me to think about it.

I pull out a picture from my pocket.

"Did you ever imagine I'd be attending therapy sessions one day? I never did. I was upset about it at first but- but not anymore. I like Dr Robert now. He's helping me deal with a lot of things. He was the one who suggested I come here".

I place it in the gap between their headstones.

"I was going through some old pictures the other day. Your old pictures, to be exact. And a part of me hates that you looked like you belonged on magazine covers back in the day".

I remember Mama calling them her glorious days. She said she was the prettiest and the smartest girl in town.

"I think I hate it because it's not the same for me. It has never been. And I don't think you have any idea about it- about how many times I looked at my naked reflection in the mirror and wished I was never born. Or how many times I imagined carving out my flesh as if it was stone. Or how many times I squeezed my flesh so tight that I'm sure it hates me as much I hate it. Or how many meals I've skipped my meals to punish myself".

I should ask Dr Robert if screams can pierce through skies. He'd probably say no. It's scientifically impossible. 

"Every time I returned home from school, I didn't want you to ask me what the teachers taught me that day. You made sure that I could be trusted with my education and I rarely let you down! I- I wanted you to ask me if I had fun! I wanted you to look at my tired soul and wonder what must be bothering me! I wanted- no, I needed you to help me feel beautiful in my own damn body! Did you ever do it? No! All you did was shove dresses onto me that did nothing but make me wish I could bury myself in an instant! All you did was make sure that I covered up myself so much that I still can't bear to look at myself naked and say "I am beautiful" and believe it! Did you stop there? Of course not! You never missed an opportunity to criticize my arms, my stomach, my things, my hips, my butt, and my legs because hey, why miss a chance of having fun at your daughter's expense?"

I know they can't hear me.

 I know that Papa would have grief written all over his face if he did and Mama would have tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. I'm not sure what my brother would've done although I always had his back as a kid- they were times when he left me to fend for myself. It did break my trust but I always told myself that it wasn't his obligation. It wasn't his obligation.

But broken walls don't build themselves up.

I wonder if I'd be able to forgive him one day. And my parents too. Dr Robert says it's not impossible. He reminds me now and then that time heals. I hope that's true. I want to be able to forgive them for everything that they did unconsciously. At least, I like to believe that it was unconsciously done. I hope I'm not wrong in thinking so.

I look around as I wipe my tears. There's a man in the mausoleum.

I remember him. It's the same guy from Dr Robert's office. I can't say I haven't him thinking about him for the past few days.

 I found him in the pictures I captured last year- the ones published in the articles I wrote anonymously and the ones under my name too.

I think they know it's me. There's no other possible explanation. He was there the night I sneaked into Roger Wickham's territory. He was supposed to look out for any intruder that day. I had my eyes on him like a hawk and my camera on Roger Wickham's drug deal with Nick Gleiden.

They must be out of prison. Maybe not all of them but the important ones.