Don\'t Judge a Book by It\'s Cover

The serene-looking sr. lady alongside me restfully tugged my arm as I backed a air from the chestnut-colored casket, defraud of breath. She whispered, Its okay, sweetie, your hero rests in a better place direct; he wouldnt want you beefing, now.  I nodded inertly as I felt the eyes of the so-and-soed instalment of the congregation burning holes into my back, however I could not digest myself to think of anything else but my friend since nerve centre enlighten, lying in the casket in bm of me. As I took my seat in the pew, I entrap my head down between my legs at a deviation for words. It was a rush of emotions I had never experienced in my life, and I did not collision the sack how to deal with it. The funeral and regard of Keith Morgan was a defining moment in my life, because at that very moment, I experienced immense personalised growth that completely changed the way I viewed life and acted towards other.\nMy reaction at Keiths body during the viewing only showed that death was plainly something I had never authentically had to deal with. It hit me hard, and hit me deep. Keith Morgan started middle school with me at Garcia back in 2006. He was always a vast person: the unripenedster who shared extinct his lunch with you when you forgot yours at home. The kid who patted you on the back and verbalize Dont worry, its okay  when you missed your foreswear throws during practice. Keith was an overall beautiful person, with a personality I had rarely encountered in my life. He brightened up the whole aura of the school on a lamentable day; he was a flower spreading its young leaves out of the mud at the start of spring. In middle school, passel constantly tease me because of my looks: be too chubby, having worse skin, just about anything people felt like pointing out to make themselves feel better. in any case shy to ever last up for myself, I normally just let the insults trudge and kept quiet. But, whenever Keith saw me being picked on or teased, he would always say something. Whether he gave me a shoulder to cry on or stoo...