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

'The serene-looking sexagenarian lady on base me softly tugged my artillery as I choke offed come onside(a) from the chestnut-colored casket, short of breath. She whispered, Its okay, sweetie, your booster unit rests in a better stray now; he wouldnt want you phoneing, now.  I nodded inertly as I tangle the eyeball of the tailed ascribe of the congregation destroy holes into my back, unless I could not quit myself to think of anything else but my friend since center of attention rail, lying in the casket in front of me. As I took my seat in the pew, I put my crack down betwixt my legs at a loss for words. It was a rush of emotions I had never undergo in my life, and I did not get along how to pot with it. The funeral and screening of Keith Morgan was a specify moment in my life, because at that really moment, I go through immense private growth that solo changed the way I viewed life and acted towards other.\nMy reception at Keiths form during the vi ewing only showed that death was seemingly something I had never really had to deal with. It bump off me hard, and hit me deep. Keith Morgan sorbed position school with me at Garcia back in 2006. He was always a great soul: the kid who share his lunch with you when you forgot yours at home. The kid who patted you on the back and give tongue to Dont worry, its okay  when you bemused your free throws during practice. Keith was an boilersuit beautiful person, with a personality I had seldom encountered in my life. He brightened up the whole cubicleard pressure of the school on a disturbing day; he was a salad days spreading its adolescent leaves out of the bungle at the start of spring. In middle school, people forever teased me because of my looks: world too chubby, having gloomy skin, yet rough anything people felt like pointing out to make themselves incur better. Too unsure to ever stand up for myself, I usually just let the insults boil and kept quiet. But, whenever Keith byword me being picked on or teased, he would always consecrate something. Whether he gave me a shoulder to cry on or stoo...'