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Funeral Short Story

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“Life sucks. I think all of you can agree with me there. Uncle Ernie is lucky that he got out while he could. Alright now, put away your dirty looks. You have to understand, this is my seventeenth funeral in the past 26 years of my life. Yeah, I love Uncle Ernie and what happened to him is devastating but you have to admit, after your fifth funeral, these things get really repetitive. So long story short, Ernie, I miss you and I’m glad your awful experience in life is over. Have a nice afterlife.” I walk away from the podium and sashay out the double doors of the Holy Place of God. Once the doors close, carbon dioxide releases from my mouth and my legs give out from under me. I’m the last one. The last of the Rollins-Williams family. The next funeral will probably be my own, who knows if it’ll be tomorrow or thirty years from now. All I can do is live my life and wait for my time to come. The funeral reception is full of tears and laughter, people telling embarrassingly funny stories of Ernie that would make him absolutely filled with rage if he heard us discussing. “And then, bam! Ernie was on the floor with the broken shower spraying him. I had never seen a man so angry,” his co worker/roommate reminisces about the ‘fun’ times they experienced. “What about you, Malia? Tell a story about Ernie,” he insists, making me extremely uncomfortable. “You know, Rob, uh I’d love to but I hear the lobster at the buffet calling my name so I’m just going to…” I trail off as I back
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