funrals

Everyone stood in a line along the coffin, eager to give his or her parting friend a gift. They waited to give her the gift of flowers so they could wilt and decay with her.
         
At the end of the line, there was a very kind and sensitive man.  He had short, red hair. However, he bared no gifts to temporarily help cover up the sent of death.  All he had to offer were his words of fear, hate, love and then after that, the rest of his sanity.

         He stood as he observed the people in front of him place the tear soaked plants among her beautiful body.  As the line got shorter and shorter he grew more and more excited.  His fellow mourners came out of the line empty-handed.  As he got closer to her she became more and more visible. The minutes passed by.
         
Finally he had reached his destination. He looked down at her white face.  She was a person whose body was as beautiful as her inside.  Her long blond hair blew harmoniously with the wind. She was the sweetest person he had ever met. She died much to young, she was only twenty-one.

She was gone, that was a fact he could not live with because he knew that he would never find any one else like her. 

“Hi baby,” he stated,” you look beautiful today. You look so alive.  You look like my sleeping beauty.  If I kiss you will you wake up?”  He knelt down beside her and wrapped his lips around hers.  People stared at him in a sort of disgusted awe.  Humans are like that. 

He dragged her out of the casket.  He embraced the cold, limp, origin-less body in his arms.  He began spinning around in circles to music that only existed in his head. People stared and did nothing.  He spun faster and faster.  He hummed a happy tune, then he dropped her.  He stared at the body for several minutes then dropped down to his knees.  “Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me!  You were all I ever had, now you’re gone.” He yelled as sad, hate filled tears ran down his face.

He reached into his black coat.  The spectators gasped as they seen the long metal object that he produced. It was placed in to his mouth.  He pulled the trigger.

                                          #

Several miles away from the double funeral a paperboy was delivering none else than papers.  He threw one at one house. It hit the front door. This happened to be the home of the person who had just shot himself. Normally as soon the paper hit the door would open so he could retrieve it. However, this was not the case this time.  Usually once he had it he would sit in his chair and would begin reading. Eventually he would get to the classifieds. If he would have home at this moment he would have paid special attention to one ad in particular. It was something like this:

                                      F seeking M
                                        Age: 21
                                            Blond
                                            Kind
                            Looking for: kind sensitive

This ad, unfortunately, was never answered.