It is the start of a collection of sketches |
The solitary lamp glowed softly in the midst of the dense Friday night fog. I walked quickly along the cracked pavements hoping to reach my destination as soon as possible. I kept my head down not wanting to feel the wind slap against my face. It was getting too windy now. Shutters slammed against their frames, leaves swirled around before landing in a heap and trees swayed, scraping and clashing their branches together. In the middle of all this noise I heard footsteps from behind me. I turned around expecting to see nothing and believe that I was imagining them, but, to my surprise there was a finely dressed man walking behind me. At first I thought he had not noticed me; I was wrong. He lifted his head and quickened his pace. Finally he caught up with me. "wh...who are you good sir?" I stuttered. "Michael. Michael Greene." "Why are you out on such a horrendous evening?" "Ah.... Well I was never really here in the first place. Good night to you sir." I turned round expecting him to still be there, just unwilling to speak to me anymore: he wasn't. Did I imagine that experience; was it just a cruel twisted game of the mind on this lonely night? I continued walking on hoping nothing else of the sort would happen again. As I turned the corner though, I saw a black cat pacing around. My Nan would always tell me how unlucky it was to see a black cat and how it supposedly brought bad luck and misery. For a moment I stared at it hoping, like the gentleman, it was an image of the mind. I looked away, telling myself that the cat would not be there when I looked back. Slowly I turned back in the direction I was walking and to my dread it was still there, staring at me with vicious and deceiving yellow eyes. Surely nothing would happen. It could just be a myth meant to scare naughty children. With this in mind I started once again on my journey. I soon realised that I had nearly arrived home. The thought cheered me up and soon I had nearly forgotten about the earlier incidents. I slowly crossed the road, knowing that no-one would be out at this time of night. Suddenly a bright light shined across my vision, a horn blared, someone shouted and I....I just turned round and I knew now why I had seen the black cat, the man that had never existed: they were a warning, a warning I did not heed, or at the time understood. Cautiously I entered the dark, gloomy room. Smoke stains covered the thinly layered walls glistening in the little light that seeped through the translucent, cheap curtains. Slowly, careful not to hit anything I made my way to one of the two chairs that occupied the room. They were both identical, each with legs that barely seemed intact; in fact they seemed near breaking point. Making sure the chair was able to support my weight (not that I was that heavy), I sat down and let out a sigh of relief. Soon my ordeal would be over. If my brother had looked when he had crossed the road I would not be here in the first place, surrounded by cheap furniture and the lingering smell of rotting fruit. Instead I would be home with him and my wife thinking about how we were such a big happy family. The door slammed shut behind me, interrupting my thoughts. I turned round and looked at the man who would organise the funeral. He was particularly fat, with his belly sticking out under his shirt, which was unsurprisingly smeared with grease among other things I did not want to know about. "Ah, welcome sir to our very prestigious funeral company. I believe we talked on the phone two weeks ago. How much are you willing to spend?" I stared in surprise at the man. He had not told me his name, he had not given his condolences, and instead he just asked me what my price range was for my brother's funeral. Was this how business was done with these funeral companies; ask the pricing range from a client, show them the different styles, give them time to think and discuss the possibilities with other distraught family members and then move on to the next person waiting with the hope of a nice welcome from nice people? "Sir, how much do you want to spend?" I turned round to face the man and quietly said, "Five hundred to a thousand pounds." "Very well sir, wait here whilst I get the different designs." I left the room to fetch several of the designs available. The price he had offered was much more than any of the possibilities cost; however I was sure he would not realise and therefore I would make much more of a profit. On my return the young man stood up waiting expectantly. Slowly I walked to the large plastic desk on the other side of the room, and laid out the different options in front of the man. He looked at them, nodding his head in what seemed a satisfactory way. Then he pointed one of his long spindly fingers at the design furthest away from him and said, "I think I will go for this one, but I would like to take these with me and discuss the options with my family." "Very well sir," I replied, "You will have a week to choose before you must submit the one you want to choose." "Thank you, now where is the exit please, I have to return home." "My assistant will lead the way." Once he had left the office I sat down on the old chair behind the desk and breathed a sigh of relief. I was glad that the young man had gone, however I knew that there were still more miserable people waiting to be attended to. "Bring in the next one please." I asked my assistant before standing up to meet my newest client. "Mummy, where is uncle?" "My dear, he has gone abroad for a little while, but do not worry." "Okay, good night. I love you mummy." "I love you too sweety, now run along to bed." With that my little four year old climbed up the steps which he had only recently conquered, before entering his room which he shared with his little sister. Suddenly the doorbell rang and I rose up from the comfortable sofa to go and answer it. My husband loomed in front of me as I opened the door. "How was it?" "The man who received me was very blunt and rude. Knowing that how do you think it went?" "Don't worry soon this will be over and everything hopefully will return to normal." "I guess. What did you tell the young one?" "I told him that uncle was abroad and we were not sure when he would be coming back." "I guess that will do for now, but we can't keep it a secret for much longer. He will grow up and start to ask questions." "I know but for now it will have to do." "Anyways, did you keep any dinner for me? You know how hungry I get." "Of course, come through to the kitchen." We proceeded to the kitchen where he instantly fell on the food like a beast suffering from starvation. For a while I watched him silently, observing his every move. "Do you think that the funeral will be well catered, when will it take place and who will speak apart from you of course?" At first he did not respond; instead deciding to stare at his half-eaten meal. Finally he looked up and a single tear slid down his well-lined face. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't...know." Concerned I wrapped my arms around and whispered, "Everything will go alright in the end. I think the kids want to see their father." "All right, I'll go and wish them goodnight." He climbed up the stairs, his heavy footfalls thudding and echoing throughout the house. After a while I left the dark kitchen and lied down with a heavy sigh on the sofa - awaiting his return. The day of the funeral came; it was a dark, disdainful day. Dark clouds covered the sun and there was already a small drizzle outside. I slowly rose out of bed, not wanting to leave the warmth and stumbled to the bathroom. As I got dressed, occasionally tripping on my trousers, I recited the speech for the funeral. It was the standard speech, which I delivered for every funeral I had to attend. Finally dressed, I ran outside to my old car - a Ford. I decided to listen to the weather forecast, hoping that God would be merciful and it would clear up by afternoon. "We will be expecting heavy downfalls of rain throughout the day, with the occasional glimpse of sunshine," the weather man reported. Great, I thought, another day of miserable English weather. A good two hours later I arrived at the cemetery. Friends and family of the deceased man were already arriving. I should have been here long before they arrived, but I was sure they did not that. Careful not to crumple my clothes, I stepped out of the car and joined the growing fray of people. All around me people acknowledged me. Soon it was time and I stepped up onto the temporary wooden platform to start my speech. My stupid little cousin, I thought to myself. At the age of thirty he managed to get himself run-over. He had such a bright future ahead of him. He was engaged, he was a rising star in his work field and suddenly all of it was over. He was run-over and all of it disappeared - like a puff of magic. On the bright side I would probably receive quite a large sum from his will. I had always been there for him and now it was his time to pay all that support back. No, you must not think in this way, I told myself; but, it was no use my brain pushed down the thought all the way to the deepest part of my Tartarus like mind. After some relatively short, and grief filled speeches people started to throw dirt on the coffin. I joined and as I threw my handful of dirt, I came to terms with the fact that I was actually happy about his death. God may condemn and throw me into the deepest place of hell for it. But, I am not ashamed - I killed my cousin. |