Set against the backdrop of the 2020 Covid-19 outbreak, a young woman, Gravely Eaton, is stuck working at the family funeral home with a father she hates. The world is dying around her, but there seems no escape from her boring life with no friend...
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There's an expression that goes something like "nothing is certain in life except death and taxes." I'm here to tell you, not even death is certain, not anymore.
This is my journal. I got to thinking, my life is pretty messed up. The world got weird, like almost overnight. Blame it on Covid-19. Blame it on China. Blame it on the politicians who made promises they couldn't keep. Maybe we do live in a cosmic computer simulation like some wackos have suggested. All I know is, five years ago lots of people got sick, desperate and dead. There were too many dead bodies to process. Too many lost souls to track. Being in the funeral business as I was, people got to flinging shit off their fingertips into my cereal bowl and they expected me to eat it. So, I thought I should write stuff down. Just in case - you know.
Maybe, if you're reading this, you're looking back from your time, years from now, and wondering what happened that changed how people lived and coped and had fun in my day. You might be interested in what happened here in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and what happened with my father. Don't know if it'll make the history books fifty or a hundred years forward, but it should. How things changed when they stopped taking souls into the afterlife. How soulless bodies just hung around and went BAD. How I got caught up in that mess. If you're reading this, I guess there's hope. That's good. I want to think there's a future for me and the rest of the world. But, right now, our people are living a shitshow on steroids.
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I'm a twenty-two-year-old female. Average looking, I guess. Kids at school teased me – because my name was weird. My father, Rushton Eaton, named me Gravely - against my mother's wishes, but mom's opinion didn't count for much. It was that kind of home. Father was a prick, and his word was law. I was a little plump as a young girl. As I said, my name is Gravely Eaton but they called me Gravy Eat-A-Ton. Mom said I was big-boned, but I would grow out of it. That was B.S. I know about human anatomy and my bones weren't any bigger than the next girl's. She was just being a supportive mom, and the simple fact was - I was eating too much and not getting enough exercise.
I was not a happy kid. See, my parents argued a lot, and they drank a lot. There wasn't much love in our family. As a kid, I didn't get that. It was weird. I mean, I would see families coming into the funeral home all the time, crying over their dead loved ones. But I didn't receive that type of parental caring and devotion in our apartment. Yeah, I grew up in the R. Eaton Funeral Home. It's where I lived. Death was what my father did for a living. Funeral shit - the smells, the black cars, and lifeless bodies lying around kind of put a damper on my play dates. I didn't have friends.
