Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Death by Relief

I stand, waiting. I can wait for hours, minutes, years; however long is required of me. For what, you may ask? Not what, but for whom.
I can see all the way across the quiet street, through the closed panel doors to the altar disguised by flowers. They are all sucked dry of colour, each plant pallid in the dreary winter light attempting to shine through the church’s glass windows. People, more than I’ve imagined, are sparse among the wooden pews, cloaked in their dark attire and equally somber moods. There’s too many of them surrounding the coffin. I can’t see his face.
From where I stand, I see there is a man built like a watch tower emerging from the throng with a plastic cup in his hand. He’s unconvincing. Moving up a few steps to stand before the coffin, his back turned to the deceased, he clears his throat.                                                                                                                 
  “I’m thankful for us all gathered here today.” The crowd seems aware of his standing there but doesn’t react. There’s no emotion in the man’s voice. ”Frank was… an interesting person to have known, have worked with. It’ll be quieter with him gone.” Murmur, finally. “There are no words that I can use to describe him. Frank was just his own man. He was proud, that’s for sure.” Empty laughs. “Wherever he is now, I bet the old guy is looking down at us and groaning his complaints. Thanks.” He steps down, sipping from his cup. No one else takes the man’s place up by the altar.
I have seen many a death, multiple funerals with a family member or two crying, perhaps lighting a candle; this is different. There are no candles, no handkerchiefs pulled from stiff suit pockets- just pearl necklaces, un-smudged makeup and mothball-scented dinner jackets. At last, as the silence begins to envelope the great hall of the church, someone stands up. He doesn’t move to the front, just stares undiscerning at the photo propped by the closed wooden crypt.                                   
“I don’t know why I’m here,” he says, and there is a response. At last, there is life in the living as they react to his outburst. “And I don’t have any idea why you’re all here. Everyone knows that no one liked him.” This is getting interesting.
“He was cold, bitter, always looking for someone to blame for his bad luck in the workforce; he blamed us all, except for himself. I don’t know if the man had daddy issues growing up or something, but he treated me like crap. You might be here because you feel bad, never invited him for dinner after seeing him leave alone every single day of his career; he always came to Christmas parties alone, I know I’m not the only one who noticed.” Bodies stir uncomfortably, as if each person feels the chill of the truth crawling along their spine. The man continues, shrugging. “I never made the effort to get to know the guy. That’s the way it was with Frank; you stay out of his way and maybe today you can have a coffee break without him biting ‘ya. Whatever it was that made him the way he was, none of us really cared until we found the invitation to his funeral in our mailboxes.”
                There was something in the air, “as though nothing important had befallen [them]”; these people just woke up for the truth in their own hearts to be revealed to them.                                                     Relief, maybe.
“Here,” someone called, raising a glass. “He used to be the first one in at the office and the last one out in the evening. I don’t think there’s any way any of us could’ve helped him. He was just so… insincere. I think most of us were afraid to ask him if he needed anything.” There are murmurs, minds working to override their natural feelings of responsibility and guilt.
I stand with some indignation, before catching myself. I do not possess emotion; I only have a job, a calling. Whether or not this man was being recognized as a divine design of Life or a passing soul was none of my concern. I tune out the voices of the living, which is difficult after a muffled “To Frank; for bringing us closer together without ever knowing” reverberates in my skull. My whisper reaches the listener, who I know is fully awake despite his cold body.                                                                                                   
  “Its time to go,” I breathe, my words flowing over the church visitors to the coffin, hooking the man. After a moment, a figure exits the heavy church doors, looking dazed.                                                                                
He rubs his eyes and forehead, walking toward me. “You’re a Reaper, aren’t you?” I know that I don’t need to answer. “They’ll be alright?”He inquires, a mixed palette of expressions painted on his visage. I have never been very good at the reading of human emotions.                                                                             

“They always were. They always will be.” I place a cool hand on his shoulder, which I notice is rough to the touch. His striped suit is beginning to tear away into the Void, the inevitable. He is not frightened. Just lost. He is just another soul to be found on the other side.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

"I hate failing. It's my second least favourite thing to do. My first least favourite is succeeding when I'm not exactly sure what the success was about."



Saturday, January 19, 2013

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"I was feeling sentimental today, so I put all our conversations in a small box in my head. One day, I want to open up our time capsule, watch the memories fly out, and remember why I first felt the way I did."


One Person On Earth

Sometimes I just want to find that one person on earth, give them a big hug, and say "good, I finally found the one who understands me, the one who will hold my hand through the good days and let me cry on the rainy ones. I finally found that equal who looks at me with understanding, the one I can throw in the sprinkler and they will only laugh and push me in, too.

"You are right here next to me, and in the moment, not letting a day of this glorious life wither by, because we are together, here, now. I can't believe I used to live and breathe and feel bliss when I didn't know you, that was never really living."

Then, like in all happy endings, he will smile and ask me one question.
And then, like all in happy beginnings, I will say, "I do."