The funeral supper

All that mattered was a little walk. In fact just the movement of the feet would have been sufficient. The fingerprints were disturbing for they were shaky.  My hands have gone numb, my body immobile and a face I never knew I had. The ceiling closed in. Moving the feet was necessary right away, at least the toe. It was the only hope of survival since the time I was left to die.

Living was not my choice, neither did I knew what death is. The ceiling was still closing in or wait, am I moving up? The gratefulness of being dead was refreshing. Greatful to genesis and the shame it brought. My teeth have decayed, stains of wild on my nails and the frowns of falling apart was prominent. Am I afraid? And of what?

A siren, constant and monotonous, muffled voices of grief and human apparitions; they are all so annoying. A broken glass had been taken care of, whiskey wiped of from the floor, the table being prepared for supper, funeral supper. Funeral supper?

Am I already dead? 

Author's Note

A shaky comeback...one write after a looonnnggg time...

Please share your thoughts and honest reviews

Reviews

[Avinash]

Life after death is one of the human fixations and fantasies. You have done justice to this story in your brilliant way of story telling. Every word you use, where you use carry a meaning. Keep writing my friend. I am sorry for reading this late but that is just an excuse :) Looking forward to your next installment.

[Dipanjan Dutta]

Thank you Avinash

[Ruth]

Hauntingly intense...makes one wonder on the after and if the person actually knows they are dead...thought provoking, good to see you again :)

[Dipanjan Dutta]

Thank you so much Poppy...

[Ruth]

My pleasure hon...