A Series of (Very) Short Stories

Prompt #2

Prompt: They’re not dead. Oh no, they’re not dead. This is very bad, they’re not dead.

She looked around the room with a sigh. So many had come out tonight, all to show their support and yet, it wasn’t for her, though people felt the need to praise her work. No, instead it was for the Smith family. She let out another sigh, oh, how she hated nights like this. Small talk and polite nods, tight-lipped smiles and gossip. The only distraction was when she could steal looks outside, to watch the rain beat down hard against the glass windows, the building itself seeming to shake with the storm. Sarah Smith floated towards her, a smile upon her face. Her smile didn’t quite seem real, which was understandable, but surprising that she tried.

“Erika.” Sarah greeted her. “Wonderful weather we’re having today, isn’t it?”

Erika raised an eyebrow at her, turning to stare outside once more. She nodded, “Mm yes, beautiful isn’t it?” replying with hidden sarcastic

Sarah gave a sharp laugh. “You did a beautiful job preparing everything, thank you so much!” she said, too cheerily, with the same tight smile, before turning away, running back to her partner. Erika rolled her eyes once again. People always acted like this at these events, too nice, too eager. As if that gave them any good karma or something.

A large group of giggling children moved outside for a brief moment, running through the back field, playing leapfrog over some of the large stones. Running and playing under the large trees where we had all been only a few hours before. Stopping only when their parents, in their nice clothes, called to them from the doors, urging them back inside, to escape the storm. They hurried in, carrying their giggling back into the essentially silent hall.

Silent but for the sound of string instruments and piano, and quiet chatter of conversation here and there.

Once everyone had taken their seats, the music changed. A priest got up, ready to begin, when the doors flew open, to the crash of thunder and lightning.

A woman walked in, soaked from the storm, mud splattered over the long flowing dress. Following close behind was another, a man, his hair plastered to his head. It was like a movie scene, when people show up to a wedding to speak out against the marriage and stop it.

It was almost comical and people would have laughed, except for the fact that this was no wedding.

It was a funeral, and they were supposed to be dead.

As a matter of fact, they had been buried earlier today. This was bad.