I walked through the empty streets, thinking about all the things I'd seen. That's all I've ever done. Watched. Assisted.
I went to a funeral today. The gravestones greeted me like old friends and I took my usual place at the back.
Beautiful stained glass windows decorated the window frames. Images of life, hope and despair conflicted with each other in chaotic harmony. I looked around the room; seeing people mourn the dead fascinated me. For me death was everywhere. This inevitable ending. Death was to me a friend.
All in black, people celebrated the man in the box's life. I can tell you this man was a nasty piece of work and only in death was he praised so highly.
YOU ARE READING
The man at the back
Historia CortaA short story with a twist ending. Can you guess who the man in black is before the end?