We celebrate the living mostly during their time of death. I heard stories of tradition where awaking from a mere moment of slumber was a call for celebration. How hypocritical.

The many weeping figures in the room were those who believed such folly. The warm lighting covered the chapel’s interior decor. Surely an expensive venue for only a few words of remembrance. I let the man standing before the rest continue his rambling about life. Each word entered and left my thoughts as the candlelight curiously seemed fainter than a second ago.

Suddenly the guests who listened intently stood up in unison with a loud rumble, leaving their pew isles and forming a line to pay respects for the deceased.

As to avoid appearing conspicuous, I joined and waited. Though not paying any mind to what was happening, it was quiet. Only the clatter of shoes filled my senses when the grieving left for their seats.

Soon it was my turn, no one else was behind me. I approached the casket and felt a strange presence, it was cold. Turning hesitantly, I discovered the chapel was now empty, then turned back and stared at the corpse lying before me, and I stared back.