Prologue (Maria's Backstory)

So, for this one, I was kind-of hoping for some input––which I will get to at the end of the post––if it's not too much trouble.

I sat on the edge, looking in, as people approached me, and laid their hands on me, saying they were sorry, or offering their condolences.

I was the only one who really cared––the others only came to utter lies or to look like good people. They pitied me, whispering about me behind my back, as they had always done. But now that I was alone, it was worse yet.

They didn't know what it was like––and nor would they ever––to catch someone important to me and feel them go limp in my arms, their last breath escaping from their lips, their last beat lost in the noise of my screaming.

My mother died. She was the only one who understood.

"I'm sorry for your loss," they'd say.

Quietly––complacently––I sat; the funeral was about to begin. I toned the world out, and ignored it all but to stand and sit at the instructions of the priest.

"Our dearly departed," he began, "was a kind soul..."

Some whispering behind me stole my attention from the speech. I listened closely, already indignant.

"She was such a looney."

"Yeah, I know."

"And she was so amoral––she's going to hell, I'd bet."

"You know what? I'm glad she's dead."

I barely remember what happened next––it was all a blur. One moment, I'm sitting, and the next I had leapt over my chair and choked the man––I don't think he was so glad after that.

"You didn't know my mother! You didn't have to be there when she died!" I shouted at him.

And as the man choked and spluttered, I only felt better and better.

"My mother will not be going to hell––she was a wonderful woman, and a far better person than you will ever be!"

By then, the priest had stopped speaking, his jaw was left hanging open in horror as he watched me pummel the man.

When he collapsed, I let go of his tie and started on the next of my mother's insulters.

"Someone call the police!" he managed to shout just before my punch connected with the side of his face.

Well, at least, that was how it pieced back together from my asking everyone how I wound up in a mental institution, of all places.

The police finally arrived a few moments later––by then, I had punched him out and started on the priest. They say it took six men to pull me off him.

But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of beginning a new life in the institution. If someone, a day before, had told me I would end up here, I probably would have told them they were crazy––ironic, huh?

Now, the question is... do I end the prologue after "six men to pull me off him," or "ironic, huh?"

Thanks! <3

Also, if you think a portion would be better worded in a different way or in a different place, please tell me––it'll help me improve my writing.

(Oh. Apologies on the formatting of the site. I haven't figured it out yet, so please bear with me.)