The funeral – Writing Prompt #1

The funeral – Writing Prompt #1

Hallo readers!

Today I start a new series of posts. I’ll be writing a piece of fiction each Monday, taking the cue from Writer Writes‘s Writing Prompts. This is the prompt I choose for today’s piece.

Enjoy!

 

Thanks to Writers Write for the use of this image http://writerswrite.co.za/

 

After all the effort it took to stay focused and keep my spirit on this planet, I have to watch that bitch pretending to cry at my funeral.  I know, I should not say such things in a Church but… but… Argh! I can’t stand her. And clearly she couldn’t stand me. I definitely underestimated Gretchen hatred towards me.

I’m glad to see my other colleagues here. They seem genuinely sorry for my departure and I am sorry to leave them, I feel I had some true friends among them, my only friends to be honest. That damned job absorbed all my time.

Fortunately my parents died long before me. They would have been destroyed by all the media circus, the police investigation, the conjectures and the macabre details of my murder discussed so publicly.

I thought I would meet them here, somewhere in the afterlife, but at the moment I am alone in this sort of limbo. It’s quite strange. I can clearly hear the priest’s voice, telling something beatiful about me and my life even if he didn’t know me and I didn’t know him, I hear my friend Joy sobbing on Kate’s shoulder, I percieve the journalist’s whispers from the end of the Church but there are other voices too. Voices from another place. I feel more then hear them and they are calling me.

Those voices become louder and louder and I know I will have to answer their call sooner or later. But not now, not yet. I know there is something else I need to see before I can go for good.

The funeral is almost over. Four sturdy men lift up my coffin and start walking towards the exit. The other people in attendance begin to follow, I am moved to see how many of them are going to accompany me in this last step.

I follow too, floating more than walking. The voices are quite demanding now. I’m not sure I’ll be able too resist for much longer. But I have to reach the church yard, there is something there! And I need to see the sun one more time.

Outside the day is chilly but clear. Cameramen and photographers are jostling to take the best picture but… there’s something wrong. Near the hearse there’s a police car. While the four sturdy men place my coffin in the hearse, two agents comes forward.

<< Gretchen Collins? – the false whining bitch tries to hide her surprise but to no avail – I put you under arrest for Lynette Wilson’s murder.

AH!

<< But… but… I’m not guilty!

<< Please, Miss Collins. We have the proofs.

That’s what I needed to see! What a relief! I thought they would have never understood it was her.

Now I can go. I can surrender to the voices.

Thanks God.

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