The Funeral

[...Posted by Ted H]

Funny thing about playing RPG games, doing schoolwork, working, finding a better job and writing all in the same week. Theres never enough time to do anything. Mass Effect/Fallout have been owning my soul as is this whole job hunt.

...Im not saying any of those are responsible for my lackluster writing.
The real reason is that I was recently, and without warning, exposed to dead, fat, old lady nudity (its as bad as it sounds) in person.
I may still need a few days to recouperate my mental state.
Why the fuck would I share that with you? Because I originally wanted to write a horror story this week, and there isnt much scarier than a dead fat old woman in a birthday suit.

Bad news: I got only half a story for ya.
Good news: Got another author (maybe 2) on the way.
Bad news: part 2 may or may not get posted in the near future.
Good news: I plan on gettin Safe Haven updated one of these weeks though.
Bad news: Aprils prolly turning into "All Ted Month"
Good news: An "All Ted Month" is the best theme month you can ask for.
Bad news: Im still doing this good/bad news thing.
Good news: It sure does flesh this update out though.

.......................................

[The Funeral]

It was still early when Dante arrived at the funeral home. He wanted to be there first so he could find a nice corner to sulk in and no one has to watch him enter. It would also give him one last private moment with Susan. He entered into an empty foyer with a freshly vacuumed carpet that Dante felt guilty about tracking mud on.

At the far side of the room was a fountain that hadn’t yet been switched on and over it hung a portrait of the original owner, the grandfather of the current owner or something. The man in the picture was sitting down with a scowl on him face and Dante wondered why people never smile for those paintings. The nearby grandfather clock struck a new hour and an automatic timer switched the fountain to life.

Dante heard a toilet flush and a moment later a man walked out of the bathroom without washing his hands and was surprised to see Dante out there. “Um, we’re not open yet,” the man said as he tucked in his dress shirt. “Not open?” Dante found himself asking aloud. He didn’t know what to think of that. “It’s awfully cold out,” Dante said “and I promise to be quiet.” The man finished with his shirt and shrugged. “Fine, but don’t let my boss know you’re here,” he said “Who are you here for?”

“Thompson,” Dante said. The man pointed to the double doors to the left of the fountain, then extended his hand outwards. “Sorry for your loss,” he said but Dante didn’t shake his hand. “You should wash your hands more in this business,” he said then went to visit Susan.

Dante entered into the empty room, all alone with a corpse on the far side. He was hesitant to approach but he knew this was his only chance to do so. “Hey,” he muttered out as he stood above her. There was a kneeler set up, but Dante didn’t bother. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get up if he did.

He tried to say something else, but words eluded him. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He decided to just reflect on their life together but nothing came to mind. All his mind could bear to conjure were vague emotions loosely associated to Susan. Each time he tried to identify the history behind a certain emotion, it would fade from his mind and other emotions would begin to overwhelm. He just stood over her and let it all wash over him. The only truly identifiable feeling was that of dread, because once this was all over, Dante knew he wouldn’t be able to feel much emotion without her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he pulled himself away from her and crossed to the other side of the room.


The family slowly filled the room in time. Her mother and father (arriving separately), grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and innumerable friends. Dante recognized most of them and almost marveled at how over half of them hadn’t seen, much less talked to Susan in years. All of a sudden they were there to show respect to the death of someone they barely knew in life.

None of them recognized Dante, either because they barely knew him before or they chose to ignore him, Dante remained undisturbed. Dante observed them all, if only to distract himself from his own grief. The mother did a lot of crying, mostly into the arms of her boyfriend. The father did all the talking and handshaking. The younger cousins sat in their own corner, grumbling at how they barely knew Susan and how Aunt/Uncle so-and-so had dragged them there. There was one aunt there with her own bottle of holy water, saying prayers and sprinkling water about Susan.

Most everyone else were seemingly oblivious of where they were and were talking as if this were some run of the mill family reunion. Of all the conversations that had caught Dante’s ears, none of them dared to bring up Susan, much less how she died. If you were to bring a blind man in and sit him down without telling him where he was, never in a million years would he be able to know he was in a funeral home.