As She Lays Breathless

As she lays breathless

         Kate's body was too disfigured for an open coffin. Just a picture of her rested on top of the highly varnished wooden casket. The room, although small in size, was filled with dozens of arrangements of roses - her favorite.

         The accident which left her in pieces came completely out of the blue. The teary eyed crowd awaited the eulogy from the minister. In his speech, the good minister left out the gruesome details of her departure from this life. A "tragedy" he called it. But everyone knew why she died.

         The culprit, the bringer of death, sat in the front row. The seats on either sides of him remained empty, even-though the room was filled past capacity. Not one soul among the many could look him in the eyes. He had the closest chair to the coffin, and there he sat - in hand-cuffs.

         Kate's husband was granted special permission to attend the funeral. Most of the guests didn't expect this, for it was his bad habit that led to her early demise.

         He could feel it. He knew everyone was staring. Thinking evil thoughts - he could feel them burning through the depths of his shattered soul. He could sense them questioning. Why? Why does he sit here unscathed, unbroken, while she lays twisted and ruined? Should a sinister man like him deserve to live?

         Kate's husband wanted to lash-out, but most of all he wanted to take her place. He knew where he belonged.

         The eulogy finished, and the minister stepped down from the podium. The good minister beckoned for the pallbearers to take their places at the side of her coffin. Six men in total shared the burden, her husband wasn't among them.

         As the well dressed men in almost identical suits carried the remains down the hallway, and onward to the black hearse, the minister approached the nearly ruined man in the front row. Without saying a word he placed a fairly large wooden cross on the man's lap. It was at this moment when he first began to cry.

         The cuffs made it difficult for him to grasp the cross, but after a short struggle he managed to get both hands around it. His grip tightened with anger. He was angry with God, but at that moment an image flashed before his swollen and glossy eyes. He could see himself nailed to the cross. Just as Jesus was. As the image passed a tear fell from his cheek and exploded directly on the surface of the crucifix. He realized then that he was a doomed man.

         After the service the doomed man was ushered to the police car he arrived in. Still clutched in his hands was the crucifix he'd been given. A sad reminder of what he'd cost. The ride to the station was a somber one, filled with regrets.

         The officer who took him to the holding cell took away the crucifix before before leaving him in isolation.

         There he sat, waiting for judgment. It was his fault, all of it. Even though she'd begged him to let her drive, he'd protested. She knew how much he had consumed, but he wouldn't hand over the keys.

         Sometimes, one bad decision can make a life not worth living.


         

This short story is dedicated to all those who have been affected one way or an other by the harsh reality of substance abuse.