Funeral Home Short Story

I’ve always wanted to know what a funeral home really looks like, TV pretty much has it pegged but I just never really realized how boring a funeral home really is. I mean sure, the stench of death follows you everywhere you go and the eerie feeling of dead bodies waiting to be buried is still there but there isn’t a shady old guy working there or spiderwebs consuming the walls. In fact, it pretty much looked like a grandmother's house. Plastic covered furniture, wax flowers, and the lingering smell of mothballs are exactly what a funeral home is, and now I had the wonderful opportunity to see one first hand.

Because I’m dead.

Not in a figurative way either I mean I’m physically dead, deceased, pushing up daisies. Whatever way you want to put it is fine by me. It’s not like I have any say in it.

It’s a shame
My hazel eyes that glistened with the thirst for life and never dying hope were now dull and lost without the zest that consumed them.

Talk about a bummer, am I right?

I tucked the picture back into my wallet and closed the box and stuck it back on the shelf. As soon as I placed it back in it’s rightful place, a sharp, searing pain shot through my hand, I clutched my hand, surprised that the deceased could still feel pain and more importantly, why I was feeling the stinging pain.

Tears welled in my eyes, which was another surprise. Shutting them, I fell to the floor, writhing in pain which was slowly engulfing my whole body by now. Suddenly it stopped just as soon as it started. I carefully opened my eyes and peered around. Darkness., That’s all I could see or feel, I failed my arms around and was surprised to hear the dull clang of metal, I kicked and thrashed till whatever I was in, opened a crack. All of a sudden a harsh light hit me in the face. I sat up straight, breathing heavily. I regained my bearings and realized I was sitting in a coffin.