“And one last thing,” Eli continued. “When they lower me down, I don’t want the last sound to be crying. I want it to be the drumline that kept me alive through the longest night of my life. Dan, you know the track. Play it loud.”
For illustration purposes only
Daniel’s thumb trembled as he pressed play. The rhythm rose — steady, defiant. This time, no one protested. When he climbed back onto the coffin, others joined — a niece clapping off-beat, a friend swaying, a father nodding in rhythm as if finally breathing again.
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