The Funeral

The weather was completely wrong for a funeral. They’re supposed to be drab, wet, and grey, to match the mood of the occasion. Not this time. It was sunny, breezy, and carefree rooks circled over our heads. I stood still, a part of the crowd. I watched the coffin… my coffin… travel from the entrance of the graveyard up the path, before coming to a standstill in front of the crowd. Birds sang incessantly, unaware that inside the coffin, the remains of my body were resting.

            “Dearly beloved, we have suffered a tragic loss…”

            Ah, hell.

*

            I never liked my mother. Even as I child, we never got along. I got used to doing everything for myself after I turned six. She used to try and hide her endless supply of men and booze from me, but after I turned ten, she didn’t bother anymore. I got used to seeing countless clothes that didn’t belong to her strewn across the living room. I got used to the stale, musty smell of alcohol that harvested itself in her room. I got lucky if I saw her more than twice a week. I heard her plenty though. At two, three in the morning, when she thought I was asleep, I heard her come in from “work”, a male voice accompanying her. Sick, sick laughter would ensue, and then fall silent.

            That particular night I was in the living room, crying. I don’t even remember what I was crying about. I hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten until I heard the door creak open. I stiffened, then relaxed when I heard the tap tap of my mother’s ridiculously high heels.

            “What are you doing up, eh?” she slurred, sounded like her mouth was full of sweets. I knew this voice. She was very drunk.

            “Nothing,” I mumbled. I began to slide off the sofa, not wanting to look at her.

            “Come on, then, love,” she giggled. “Come have a cuddle with your old mum.”

            I looked at her disgustedly. “No, thank you. You’ve been drinking.”

            Her mood altered instantly. I think she was pretending to be a bit more drunk than she actually was.

            “Who do you think you are, eh?” she suddenly screeched. “You think you’re too old for me? Too good for me, is that it?”

            “No,” I said firmly. “I just want to go to bed.”

            “Is that right, lovie?” her voice softened. This was a dangerous sign. “Too tired for mumsie, now, are you?”

            She keeled over, just grasping the arm of the sofa in time to steady herself. “Well, let me teach you to appreciate your elders, more, yeah?”

            She reached up �" I was quite a bit taller than her - and slapped me hard across my face. I didn’t do anything. I just stood there, giving her a pitying look. It wasn’t the first time she’d hit me. I just stood there, giving her a disgusted look. I expect her to leap at me and beat me to within an inch of my life. Instead, her eyes brimmed with water.

            “Don’t you look at me like that, you good for nothing w***e!” she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I won’t have it! You can clear off, you can, if you don’t like it here!”

 Any feelings of remorse and guilt I had for her immediately vanished. I stopped myself from shouting. “Yes. Yes, I think that’s what I’ll do.”

               “Go on, then!” she howled. “Get out! You’re useless! You, your father! You’re all useless! Go to hell, all of you.”

               “Alright. Alright.”

               I went up to my room, threw a couple of things into a bag, and left. She was still screaming by the time I was out the door.

            It was dark. And cold. I walked along in my faded jeans and hoodie, a pair of worn-out shoes on my feet, laces dragging. I’d always had a horrible sense of direction, but I didn’t exactly need it     where I was going to go.

            I came to the road nearby my house. It was so dark you would have been able to see a car’s headlights from a mile off. And that was exactly what I was hoping for.

            Ah, there comes one now. A small car, but it would do.

            I dropped my bag on the sidewalk. I wouldn’t need that where I was going.

            The car was approaching fast.

            I shuddered, closed my eyes, and stepped onto the road.

The squeal of the brakes, the impact that slammed my body. The glare of the headlights as they temporarily blinded me. Immobile. Frozen. Unable to think or move or breathe. Complete senselessness. Good. That was what I’d been aiming for.

            They said my mother was too devastated to attend her funeral. Apparently she’d had to be sedated and was in the hospital. I scoffed. I didn’t believe a word of it. If she wanted to attend my funeral, she would have.

            I stood still, a part of the crowd, watching as the coffin made its way from the entrance of the graveyard up the path, coming to a standstill in front of us.

            Ah, hell.