Write about something you've lost:
I lost my grandpa a few months ago, and I'm still a little in shock over it. My dad thinks I need counseling because of it, and maybe he's right. I can't get Grandpa's hand out of my memory. I can still see it, swollen from kidney failure, brightly illuminated, pale but mottled. I squeezed it, and it was cold even though he wasn't dead yet. My mom should've been there instead of me, but coward that she was, she ran out of the room crying, leaving me there to hold his hand while he took his last breaths. It's an odd thing to feel someone's pulse fade into nothingness, and to sense the soul slip through your own fingers as it escapes to Heaven. I just can't let go of his hand, his cold, unmoving, unreal hand. It's frozen in my memory.
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