“He died in the field?” I said. “Yep,” said the funeral director, “stone deaf; didn’t hear the tractor coming. Ran right over him.” “Tragic! Farm hand?” “Yeah, kind of.” “Family?” “None that we know of. The farmer’s paying, seeing to… Continue Reading
We had a little funeral today in secret. We didn’t tell the Brogdonians. No one was in the mood to explain why we had decided to hold this human ritual they barely understand now. For this. We didn’t tell the… Continue Reading
The day of the funeral, it fails to rain. It would be easier to bear if the sky wept with us. Instead, sunlight and warmth touch every corner of our mountains, flicker on every tree leaf, fill each breeze. A… Continue Reading
The smell of death isn’t death; it’s food. The smell wafts from the kitchen, permeates the hallway, living room, and dining room of the old colonial. It travels up the stairs in whiffs of almost tangible threads into the two… Continue Reading
“I hate funerals,” I whisper. “Who don’t, boss?” Ah, Lomax. In his 5’2”, motheaten glory, he’s doughy as flapjacks and almost as aware. “Assassins, morticians, beneficiaries of juicy wills, and we other lowly disciples of greed and grift. At least,… Continue Reading
I pull dresses and pants, jackets and blouses from the closet and stuff them into plastic trash bags. Given the pandemic, I couldn’t find a charity to take Pearl’s clothes even though, for all the COVID patients she treated, she… Continue Reading
Ivan uses the L.A. Daily News as a placemat because his wife – rest her soul – once told him it is easier to throw out a stained newspaper than to wash a stained placemat. He prefers the obituary section;… Continue Reading
Ms. Alice FoyBerkshire OH 45044 Dear Ms. Foy, I’m writing in reply to the multiple obscene comments you’ve left on our company’s Testimonials page as well as the scorched-earth social media campaign that you’ve undertaken against us in the weeks… Continue Reading
The podium is uneven on the grassy outdoors, and Anthony feels it wobble slightly as he rests his notepad and palms atop it. The hum of the wind lilts as he clears his throat and loosens his black tie just… Continue Reading
It was a big hole, deep, long, narrow. The dirt that had come out of it mounded some distance away, nearly black against the equal mounds of snow plowed from the roadway. He stood at its edge, just outside the… Continue Reading