GreedyBoy
Mind the gap.
I’ve always found funerals amusing. Of course, that sounds completely and utterly sociopathic and to be perfectly honest, it is. However, if you were to look at it from my perspective, you’d find the same amusement. Well, at least I think so.
To say I’ve been to one too many funerals is a slight understatement. They’re always the same and the one I stood at that day was no deviation. I held the umbrella as the rain softly pattered onto it. The trees lazily shook back and forth. The sky stained grey and white. It was a pathetic excuse for a storm. Clearly the heavens weren’t weeping over this particular death.
The emotional speeches and sniffles all blurred and faded away into the background. All I really focused on was the tombstone and the name carved into it. Emily Lovette. A friend of a friend. She was a pleasant girl, i’ll give her that, but I have met oh so many pleasant and charming girls that they simply bore me. Sickly sweet smiles and laughter like bells get rather old rather quickly. Like the other sweet girls I’d come to know in my time, Emily was dead. Hit by a car I think it was. Oh or was that Jennifer...
I was snapped out of my thoughts by a loud sob from one of the onlookers as the poor girl was lowered into the ground. I’m rather glad people get buried in a box. From what I was told, the once beautiful girl now looked rather...oh how do I put this...I suppose the only way to describe it was mangled beyond recognition.
I checked my watch. Funerals usually only last an hour or two if that. I started to tap my foot impatiently but I stopped myself. Yes, I am rather heartless when it comes to death but I have learned that you don’t have anything to gain from pissing people off at a funeral. In fact you have more to lose. I have learnt this through trial and error.
I have felt the pain of loss. That is unavoidable with my...condition. However, I’ve lost so many that I’m numb to it. I just don’t care anymore. I’ve watched so many people gush about the dearly departed when I know most of them are oh so full of shit. Either I know firsthand how they treated the person who’s pushing up daisies or I’ve heard whispers as we walk into the church.
I’ve made a habit of focusing on everything else except the people talking. My surroundings, the onlookers, the grave, the body (if it happens to be an open casket.) At this particular funeral, it wasn’t anything interesting. A boring field filled with boring people who lived boring lives now underneath a boring stone. I entertained myself with the fact that the priest had actually forgotten the girls name and was trying oh so desperately to peek back at the headstone whilst he was speaking. I couldn’t stop the smile but it’s not like anyone was looking.
As the ceremony came to a close and I put on a sombre look as people were starting to look up away from the grave, I let out a soft sigh. That, I picked up, is very effective in convincing people you’re sad. A forlorn look or at least some tears is more socially acceptable than the smirk I was holding back.
I said my goodbyes as I had promised not to stay for too long as I had other business to attend to. I didn’t. I was only there out of invite since my friend thought i’d be some sort of emotional support. I honestly don’t know why I even went. I’m about as emotionally available as the girl that is now buried six feet underground. I’d only met emily once or twice. Like I said, she was pleasant. I’d say I’m sad to see her go but I really don’t care.
As I walked away, I finally let out a soft chuckle. It doesn’t matter how many funerals I attend, they’ll all amuse me.
What even happens after you die? I’ve asked many people and it really does vary. I’m almost jealous of Emily. She knows.
I never will.
To say I’ve been to one too many funerals is a slight understatement. They’re always the same and the one I stood at that day was no deviation. I held the umbrella as the rain softly pattered onto it. The trees lazily shook back and forth. The sky stained grey and white. It was a pathetic excuse for a storm. Clearly the heavens weren’t weeping over this particular death.
The emotional speeches and sniffles all blurred and faded away into the background. All I really focused on was the tombstone and the name carved into it. Emily Lovette. A friend of a friend. She was a pleasant girl, i’ll give her that, but I have met oh so many pleasant and charming girls that they simply bore me. Sickly sweet smiles and laughter like bells get rather old rather quickly. Like the other sweet girls I’d come to know in my time, Emily was dead. Hit by a car I think it was. Oh or was that Jennifer...
I was snapped out of my thoughts by a loud sob from one of the onlookers as the poor girl was lowered into the ground. I’m rather glad people get buried in a box. From what I was told, the once beautiful girl now looked rather...oh how do I put this...I suppose the only way to describe it was mangled beyond recognition.
I checked my watch. Funerals usually only last an hour or two if that. I started to tap my foot impatiently but I stopped myself. Yes, I am rather heartless when it comes to death but I have learned that you don’t have anything to gain from pissing people off at a funeral. In fact you have more to lose. I have learnt this through trial and error.
I have felt the pain of loss. That is unavoidable with my...condition. However, I’ve lost so many that I’m numb to it. I just don’t care anymore. I’ve watched so many people gush about the dearly departed when I know most of them are oh so full of shit. Either I know firsthand how they treated the person who’s pushing up daisies or I’ve heard whispers as we walk into the church.
I’ve made a habit of focusing on everything else except the people talking. My surroundings, the onlookers, the grave, the body (if it happens to be an open casket.) At this particular funeral, it wasn’t anything interesting. A boring field filled with boring people who lived boring lives now underneath a boring stone. I entertained myself with the fact that the priest had actually forgotten the girls name and was trying oh so desperately to peek back at the headstone whilst he was speaking. I couldn’t stop the smile but it’s not like anyone was looking.
As the ceremony came to a close and I put on a sombre look as people were starting to look up away from the grave, I let out a soft sigh. That, I picked up, is very effective in convincing people you’re sad. A forlorn look or at least some tears is more socially acceptable than the smirk I was holding back.
I said my goodbyes as I had promised not to stay for too long as I had other business to attend to. I didn’t. I was only there out of invite since my friend thought i’d be some sort of emotional support. I honestly don’t know why I even went. I’m about as emotionally available as the girl that is now buried six feet underground. I’d only met emily once or twice. Like I said, she was pleasant. I’d say I’m sad to see her go but I really don’t care.
As I walked away, I finally let out a soft chuckle. It doesn’t matter how many funerals I attend, they’ll all amuse me.
What even happens after you die? I’ve asked many people and it really does vary. I’m almost jealous of Emily. She knows.
I never will.
