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

The serene-looking old lady alongside me softly tugged my ramp up as I sanction away from the chestnut-colored casket, short of breath. She whispered, Its ok, sweetie, your ally rests in a conk adopt place now; he wouldnt want you crying, now.  I nodded inertly as I mat up the eyeball of the seated portion of the convocation burning holes into my underpin, but I could not allow myself to prize of anything else but my friend since centerfield school, lying in the casket in front of me. As I took my seat in the pew, I put my bespeak down between my legs at a loss for words. It was a rush of emotions I had never experience in my life, and I did not know how to have intercourse with it. The funeral and viewing of Keith Morgan was a specify moment in my life, because at that very moment, I experienced immense personal fruit that completely changed the way I viewed life and acted towards other.\nMy reaction at Keiths body during the viewing notwithstanding showed tha t death was evidently something I had never really had to buy with. It hit me hard, and hit me deep. Keith Morgan started midst school with me at Garcia back in 2006. He was ceaselessly a great person: the kid who shared his lunch with you when you forgot yours at home. The kid who patted you on the back and said Dont worry, its okay  when you missed your free throws during practice. Keith was an boilers suit beautiful person, with a constitution I had seldom encountered in my life. He brightened up the solid aura of the school on a sad twenty-four hours; he was a kick spreading its young leaves out of the mud at the start of spring. In middle school, tribe constantly teased me because of my looks: beingness too chubby, having bad skin, salutary about anything people felt like pointing out to ingest themselves feel better. Too unsure to ever stand up for myself, I usually meet let the insults roll 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...