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Muriel's Funeral Richard Koss
The spirit world is mere speculation to us, the living. Nevertheless, many of us entertain a variety of conceptions and fantasies about the realm our spirits enter into after death.
One of the fantasies of the living, particularly those of us who have succumbed to moments of depression, is to be present at our own funerals and witness the bereavement of those we leave behind, rarely imagining that we might be disappointed at what we see.
This morning, such a fantasy has become reality for Muriel Neurenbacher, a middle aged woman, who took her own life, or at least that was the coroner’s opinion.
It’s certainly a perfect morning for a funeral. Cold, drizzling rain, gray skies, just like in the movies.
Look at the son-of-a-bitch standing at my gravesite, there among my few remaining friends, trying so hard to look sad.
I should have listened to my dear friends, Emily and John and the rest of them. They warned me Dominic was a gold-digging gigolo. But no, I fell for his charm and wouldn’t listen.
He was patient. He arranged everything and was so clever about it. Even argued with me about changing attorneys after my fight with Barbara Lawson. She had his number and despised him. Instead, I insisted on a new trust agreement, modifying my previous will which had left most of my estate to charity. I should have listened to Barbara. She was a good friend and a competent attorney. She was only looking out for me.
Yes, I was a fool. A fool to think that romance had finally come to me, an unattractive, over-educated, fifty year old spinster. Dominic made me believe that. He really knew how to make a woman feel like she was the only one who could turn him on. Believe me, an alligator could turn on the horny bastard.
He learned all about my past history of depression, of the previous suicide attempts before I met him. How he found out I don’t know, but he did.
He got me in a spectacular mood that night. We had wild sex, like never before. That’s when I let my guard down, temporarily forgetting how suspicious I was of him and his mysterious mistress, forgetting how afraid I was that he might try to kill me.
Look at him now, the fucking monster - standing there in the rain, waiting for this charade to come to an end so he can go to his slut mistress and they can start spending my money.
But I will definitely have the last laugh, even from here.
He has no clue about the letter - the sealed letter I typed, describing in detail, how I expected him to murder me, making it look like I committed suicide. He’ll probably have a stroke. This letter was to be opened only by my attorney, in the event of my death. But not by the lawyer he got for me. Oh no, when I became convinced of his cheating and his scheming to get rid of me, I went to Barbara and apologized for not having confidence in her judgment. That’s when I left the letter with her.
I’m surprised the police aren’t here already to arrest the son-of-a-bitch. Maybe Barbara hasn’t opened the envelope yet. She’s standing there next to Emily, looking at Dominic with a cold stare. Wait till she reads it. She’ll probably go right to the prosecutor.
It’s starting to rain harder. Now they’re laying those cheap flowers on my coffin. Shit! The only one with a tear in her eye is Emily. Hell, she cried more when her cat died.
Barbara walks to her car now. She’s motioning someone to follow her. It’s Dominic. Why is she doing that?
They’re sitting in the back seat, waiting for everyone else to leave. What the hell is going on? Why is she there with him? She can’t stand him. Now she’s opening an envelope. It’s my letter. She’s reading it to him. Dominic’s lighting a cigarette and he’s… he’s burning my letter with his lighter. " Barbara! Don’t let him do that! You’ve got to stop him!" She’s just sitting there, not saying a word.
I can’t do a thing about it. I can only watch - watch them both as they embrace, as they kiss, as they - oh for Christ’s sake. "Have you no respect? Not here! Not here!"
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