Gathering Of Dedicated Scribblers discussion

Chapter 1
I am working my way backward through the story.
I would like your input. My nemesis is tense.
It’s a muggy day. It’s even too hot for the bugs. Nothing stirs and death hangs in the air. It doesn’t matter how many flowers there are in a church you can always smell the dead loitering by the pews ready to capture the mourner in their spidery threads.
She always thought funerals were more for the living than the dead. What was left behind was just an empty shell of long forgotten what ifs and should haves and dieing memories. She knew some needed the closure while others were the Peeping Toms of death.
Carrie turns back to the front looking at the stained glass windows. The old stonewalls from the original church have a welcoming look. At least they were cool to the touch, not like the unmoving air in the chapel. The air conditioner whines for mercy as it battles the humidity. Sunlight bounces off the colored glass creating a myriad of colors that swirl in the air. It is a stark contrast to the black clothes that everyone is wearing.She likes how the church has kept the original stained glass. The pictures created by the kaleidoscope of colors brings hope and peace among the congregation.
Her eyes finally fall upon the casket. Thank goodness it is a closed casket. The coffin is an obelisk that beckoned mourners, as they slowly creep past to say their goodbyes. They are being drawn to it like moths to a flame. One lady drops her kleenex and the men around her scramble to give her a new one.
Carrie scans the crowd is beginning to fill the room. She notices that Lisa seems even more fit than when they were kids. Lisa’s hair is still dark, with foggy gray tendrils creeping in and winding through her hair. Her face is almost line free from healthy living and a regime of endless workouts and nightcreams.Carrie almost wonders if there has been a little work done on the face, but decides against it.
Carrie and Lisa’s eyes meet and begin to take stock of each other. There is the slightest of nod to each other. Each one wondering about the circumstances that have brought them together again. It has been many years. Too many, with only an occasional letter, holiday card or random email that held hollow gestures.
Lisa silently assesses Carrie. Standing tall and erect with years of practice from a mother that would browbeat her into the perfect stance. She is still very much the All American Beauty. Money, looks, pedigree. Yet, Carrie looks a tad uncomfortable if you know what to look for. The flicking of her left wrist is always her tell. The girls always knew when Carrie was uncomfortable. She may appear to be in control, but Lisa knew better. The blonde hair is now a shade darker and expertly done. There isn’t the brassiness that most blondes go through when they are no longer natural. Carrie still wore expensive clothes. Her shoes compliments the dress beautifully, but Faragamos are a classic. The dress fit like a dream, and it was not off the rack at Dillards. Lisa has watched and studied over the years how to be noticed yet not be recognized for where she came from originally. She gives very little away. Only one person now knew the truth.
A deep gasp of breath from the back of the church echoes through the church. The husband has stepped through the large double oak doors. The doors represent a new beginning or a lost cause to Carrie and she desperately hoped for the former. As the husband walks to the front held up by his brother you could see the racking grief flow off his body like a great flood breaching its banks. Tears streaming down his face like an unwanted river raft trip down the Colorado River. Would he be able to handle the days, weeks and months of grief that would follow or would he allow it to crush him like a black hole swallowing a dying star?
The minister begins his eulogy and an occasional sniff is heard throughout the suddenly tiny room, every once in a while there is a loud sob that resonates through the hearts of the small town. More than one person is going to need time to heal. The Three Musketeers are no longer three but two. Carrie sighs. What will she do next?
As the minister drones on about life and death and the trail of crumbs that people leave behind in their wake, Carrie can’t help but remember her own trail of breadcrumbs that follows her. For one second she thinks of the Hansel and Gretal fairy tale and she snorts by accident which she turns into an expertly disguised cough. There is one crumb trail that she likes to retrace every once in a while and it is the day the three of them met for the first time.

Did you double post or should I read through this?

I think I posted the wrong one. Sorry for just getting back with you.