Random short stories

Crashing Your Own Funeral

I stand in the back of the procession, dressed in black and with my head down. I watch with dulled amusement as the mourners bury the empty casket I was supposed to be in. They never question why it was so light, why the body was never shown. They're too busy being stuck in their contrived grief for who they thought I was. They deliver a heartfelt eulogy of how dearly I will be missed. My "mother" sobs into her handkerchief as my "fiance" consoles her. I roll my eyes and bite back a cruel laugh. Oh please, get a grip people. These fake emotions of love and kinship for me will fade, eventually. Meanwhile, please control yourselves. Tch. Crying over a daughter and future bride that was never who she appeared to be.

You must be thinking I'm a horrible person, and while that may be partly true, allow me to explain what I'm talking about. I'm immortal. To protect myself from being discovered and experimented on, every few decades, I move towns and find a group of individuals weak enough to fall prey to my mind tricks. Once I have located them, I use my abilities to convince them that I belong there, that I'm one of them. I pose as their daughter, lover, or beloved sister. When people start to realize that I'm not aging and they begin asking questions, or when I get bored, that's when I fake a tragic accident that results in my death. Then the process begins anew.

I turn to my dearest friend, the only one who can truly understand my reasoning behind this charade, she too has the same dilemma. "This is, what, the third time I've crashed my own funeral?"

"Fifth," she smirks,

I feign surprise, "Really? That many? Hmm, I need to break this nasty habit before I get caught. Oh well, let's leave these fools to their mourning."