An IDV story (serious)

1

Tolling church bells. Can you hear it? The same ringing sound that signifies the unison of two lucky people for life or the death of another poor soul. For one particular young man on one particular day, the bells were a death knell.

It was the perfect day to hold a funeral. Wet and gloomy. The ground was soft, and the damp mud clung to the young man's newly polished shoes. The rain rolled off his umbrella and cleansed all the headstones of the dust and dirt that had collected. His father's one, which was only recently placed into the ground, was purified by the rain for the first time, the stone growing a dark grey.

"It's time to go home."

A voice called out to him from behind. It was one that he knew well. His brother. A hand gently grasped his shoulder trying to comfort and reassure him, trying to get him to go home but he shrugged them off. Having been rejected, his brother said nothing more, turned and left. The young male gave the grave one last glance before he too turned to leave the cemetery, contemplating as he went the events that led to his father's demise.

When was it again? A long time ago now. Ah yes, it was then. Back then just last year...

"Cheers!"

The sound of wine glasses clinking together and drunken laughter erupted from the deepest part of a lonely street in Whitechapel, cutting through the eerie yet natural silence of a neighbourhood during the night. Near the end of an alley, buildings surrounded a funeral home, separating it from the rest of the tall structures and thoroughfare. Each wall of every building on the street was filled with grime and was so incredibly thin that any noise, no matter how quiet it was, could be heard by the rest of the residents of that street. Thus, when the cheers came, everyone knew that someone was throwing a party.

There was a sign hanging above the funeral home door which read "J. Carl & Sons Family Funeral Directors" although very few ever noticed it. Not many were brave enough to venture down the tight and dim alleyways in order to find the hidden parlour. What a shame it was. The place was well-kept and had many beautiful coffins, headstones and flowers on display in the large windows with intricate designs and wonderful shapes suitable for anyone.

Within this funeral parlour, beyond the white curtains, caskets and sandalwood-scented candles, three men were sat around a low coffee table in the reception room, holding a small celebration. By themselves they had finished three bottles of red wine and were moving on to their fourth. The empty ones were carelessly discarded to the floor along with their gold foils and corks. There were plenty more sealed and fresh bottles too, on a wooden tray placed right in the middle of the table. Right next to the wines was a tall stack of neatly arranged, glistening strawberries. Paired with a shiny silver platter, the red fruits looked even more delectable.

"Any more wine, Jack?" one of the males asked. He brought an opened bottle of Mouton Rothschild close to the glass of one of his companions, with shaky hands. He was the oldest of the trio, the owner of the establishment, the head undertaker.

"No, thank you. I am afraid that if I were to have any more I would not be able to walk home without assistance," the other man replied. He was the tallest of the group and clad in luxurious fabrics reserved for those with enough money and status. The most noticeable item was his dull green double-breasted jacket made of a material so rich that it was unrecognisable. It was finer than any silk or velvet, something so rare that even the royal family have likely never seen or worn such a fabric before.

"Suit yourself. More for me then."

"Yes. Please, help yourself."

The man dressed in green, who went by the name 'Jack', pushed the bottle away from himself and politely covered his mouth as he let out a small hiccup.