It was a warm day in Paris, the kind of day where one would have a picnic with their family, eat pastries by the lakes, but today, they were at her funeral, mourning for a girl who they may or may not know. 

People were dressed in dark colours, mostly black. Sounds of quiet weeping echoed through the church, overpowering the priest’s sermon. 

She had never gone to a funeral, and never expected that the first funeral she would go to would be… her own. 

The sermon was over, and food was served immediately. A couple of the people started eating immediately, their earlier tears dried up. They were eating anything within reach. Stuffing their faces with food—like they were 

She thought her funeral would be something that people would respect. Not cry fake tears and only come for the food. She always imagined that if she died, it would be something to remember, something that people wouldn’t gossip about, unlike some people she was hearing. 

Her eyes darted towards her boyfriend. Charles. He was sitting in the corner with her mother, Margot. They both were one of the only ones who weren’t digging into food.

“How did she even die?” a woman from behind her spoke up in a hushed voice. She looked in her fifties, around the same age as her mother, but without the sorrow and anguish on her face. She had the look of an old crone. 

“Apparently, she got into a car accident.” replied another woman, who also looked around the same age as her mother, though she was a bit slouchy.

“She was such a beautiful girl too, with so much life and such a good boyfriend, even if her 

father was dead, her mother was still alive.” whispered the crone-looking woman. Juliette. 

It was true though, she was pretty. People complimented her energy and bubbly personality. Her boyfriend was the best she ever had. Her father wasn’t here, but her mother still was. She didn’t really know who her father was. He died when she was born. 

Her boyfriend was amazing. He made her happy. Oh, so happy. She loved life, every part of it. The ups and downs, the highs and lows, the happiness, the sadness, and even the times when she felt like nothing was going her way. She loved living.

But when Death comes to take one away, not even Life’s soft whispers can change his mind. 

“Her poor mother, she was already getting frail.”

“How will Margot even manage?” 

“First her husband, now her daughter.”

Her mother was the first to give a eulogy

Charles helped her to the podium, while her mother, Margot, prepared herself for her eulogy. 

“My daughter Vivienne, was a bundle of joy, she was so full of life,” she sniffed, dabbing her tears away with a handkerchief. “Good Afternoon everyone. Thank you for being here today for Vivienne’s funeral. My daughter Vivi, I can’t believe she’s gone. She loved everyone, and everything. She never judged you, or thought anything bad about anyone. I still remember the day she was born. She was so small, tiny and precious. I still know how I felt when I held her. I was scared that I’d drop you, or injure you somehow. She was the kindest soul ever. I always told her that her kind nature would get her in trouble. The last thing I told her was that she’s probably gonna end up dead if she drives to her friends in this rainy weather. She just brushed it off and said she’ll be fine. I just wish I would’ve given my beautiful daughter a hug before she left.” Margot stifled a sob, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“I never believed in spirits or ghosts, but if they’re true, I just hope she knows how much I love her and how much I’m gonna miss her. She was the pillar of my life and now that she’s gone, I don’t know how I’ll move on, but I’ll try, just for her. I miss her smiles, her early morning breakfast, and her excitement when she talked about the things she loved. Vivienne always put life in everything she did. I’m just… gonna miss her so much. She’s in a better place now.” She broke into quiet sobs that wracked her entire body. 

She watched Charles escort her mother down from the podium when she couldn’t speak about her anymore. 

She looked at herself in the casket—Her pale, lifeless body, wrapped in white. 

The sight was appalling—not just to others, but to herself too.  

Why was it that she felt disgusted, or sad? She always thought ghosts didn’t feel anything. Maybe that’s why ghosts in stories haunt people. Because all they do is feel, and they need to take their feelings out on someone because it gets too much. 

After a couple other people gave their word, it was finally Charles’ turn. He stepped onto the podium, a handkerchief in his fist. He cleared his throat.

“Vivienne was… she wasn’t just my girlfriend,” he sniffled quietly, “She was my everything, she was… she was the best thing in my… my life.”

“Whenever she was around, it felt like… it felt… like it was some sort of happy place?” he chuckled to himself. Some people murmured words of agreements in return. 

“She always smiled at you, and made you feel so happy. Sometimes, she would get sad, but she would never dwell on it,” Charles wiped his nose with the handkerchief, “She was always so positive and happy. It was insane. I just wish I had the chance to say goodbye.”

Vivienne turned away from her boyfriend’s eulogy, not wanting to hear another word. She couldn’t bear to. Her heart hurt at her boyfriend’s every sniffle, every sob. She felt her eyes burn with tears again. The same question running through her mind. 

Can ghosts really cry? 

When people started clearing out of the church, she followed behind like a lost puppy– like a lost, pathetic ghost. 

She saw her mother getting into a car with her other family members and driving away, while Charles stayed by her grave. 

She stared at him.

But he didn’t.

Was this all over? Everything she and Charles had? 

Who would kiss her and wipe her tears away now? Who would tell her she’s not alone and that everything would be okay? Can she not say goodbye to him one last time? Is everything really over? Would she turn into those bitter, mourning ghosts or was she going to move on?

She was alone again— but not completely. Life was still surrounding her, wasn’t it? Silent and patient. The trees were steady, the earth warm beneath her feet, the distinct smell of the flowers, the birds singing. Yes, she was surrounded by life, like she had always been. 

She walked towards the gravestone. It looked ugly, dark, and solemn. It looked too foreign, too strange. She didn’t like that one bit. 

But the flowers, envelopes and candles around it seemed to make a difference. People came and decorated it with thank you cards. It made the sight a bit more bearable. 

Vivienne Esme Archambeau. Born in 2000. Died in 2025. 

The name was carved into the stone. Simple. 

May her soul rest in peace. 

The words felt too little for what she had been. 

She crouched down and grabbed one of the flowers, A rose without thorns. Charles always snipped the thorns off because he didn’t want her getting hurt. 

She felt her eyes burn with tears, she held the rose to her chest as tears spilled down her cheeks. She cried loudly, screaming and grabbing her hair, falling down to her knees. It didn’t matter though, because even if she cried loudly, no one would hear her. 

That night, Vivienne cried so much that her tears were enough to water a sapling. 

Can Ghosts cry? The answer is yes.