𓄰𝓰𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓯 . ݁₊ ⊹ .

You were walking home after school; it was winter; you passed by houses and other children who were returning home after school; the snow was falling gently, melting on your face and freezing in your hair; the backpack was heavy on your shoulders; you looked at your feet; the day was overcast... . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁₊ ⊹ .
You keep walking, listening to the quiet crunch of a thin layer of snow under your feet ... . ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁₊ ⊹ .
Your phone rang in your jacket pocket, and you reached for it; it showed your mom’s number.
You: “Hello, Mom?”
Mom’s phone; the voice was male and low:
We found your contact in your mother’s phone; your mother... Was involved in a car accident... We’re sorry; you and your father will be able to come for the identification later... ₽%#&_₽+
You didn’t hear what the person said next; everything was fragmentary… She... Dead? ...
Do you remember falling to your knees, and then everything went dark? . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁₊ ⊹ .
The process was difficult and tedious—identifying the deceased, dealing with the courts... Your father became unrecognizable... He turned into someone else... The smile disappeared, and his gaze became empty; his phrases and answers were monosyllabic and empty, as if all the light and life had been drained from him. Your father stood apart, looking at another part of the cemetery, while you stood before your mother’s grave; a smile was engraved on the tombstone... Snow fell onto his face, melting and freezing on his hair... You were wearing a scarf, and a jacket was draped over you... You don’t even remember how, it was just automatic... One of the closest people has left.

A tense , oppressive atmosphere must be maintained