Escaping the funeral
As I stand in the solemn silence of the funeral home, memories of my ex-boyfriend Moon flood my mind. I can’t help but let the tears escape my eyes, streaming down my face like rivers of sorrow. With a shuddering gasp, I cry out, “He was just 24!”
The weight of the reality begins to sink in, and I find myself drawn towards his casket, desperate for one last chance to see his face, to hold his hand, to say goodbye. My heart aches as I reach out to lift the lid, but I am suddenly held back by a sea of arms, Moon’s family members forming a barrier between us. Their eyes, filled with their own pain, plead with me to let go.
My knees buckle, and I collapse into their embrace, my body wracked with heaving sobs. “How could this happen?” I ask, my voice barely whispering, choked by the tears that continue to flow. No one has an answer, and we stand there together, united in our grief, mourning the loss of the bright light that was Moon.
Before I knew it, the moment had arrived - that dreadful opportunity to finally see his body. With a mix of annoyance and agitation, I tumbled over to the casket, making absolutely sure to close the door behind me. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. My ex-boyfriend, the absolute piece of shit that he was, had somehow managed to rope me into this absurd plan.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I reached the casket. “I know you’re not dead, you absolute piece of shit!” I practically hissed, giving his chest a good thwack for good measure. “Yeah, no shit!” he whispered back, sitting up with that infuriating smirk of his. Just one more reason to be glad we were no longer together.
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my annoyance in check. “I’m the last person to see you. You should close your casket and escape through the window. I’ll meet you around the back to make sure no one sees you!” I whispered, barely containing my frustration. The things we do for... well, I couldn’t even call it love at this point. It was more like morbid curiosity mixed with a heavy dose of annoyance.
Moon nodded, and I couldn’t help but think how ridiculous this whole situation was. Here I was, helping my ex-boyfriend fake his own death and escape from his own funeral. It was like something out of a bad sitcom, and I was the unwitting sidekick.
I stepped back and watched as he closed the casket and shimmied out the window. I shook my head, wondering just how I’d gotten myself into this mess. But there was no time for reflection now - I had to make sure he made his escape undetected.
With a sigh, I slipped out the door and hurried around to the back of the building. The things we do for the assholes in our lives...
I found him leaning against the wall of the funeral home, smirking like the devil himself. “Let’s go, asshole!” I barked, and we began to walk toward my car. I felt the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I broke into a run, while he casually strolled behind me, as if it wasn’t his own funeral that he’d faked to escape his batshit insane family.
Once we were in the car, I floored the gas and we sped off. “Thanks, baby,” he said, with that infuriating grin plastered on his face. I shot him a glare that could’ve frozen lava. “We’re not together anymore! You don’t get to call me baby,” I hissed.
He chuckled, unfazed, and said, “You’re still my baby. You don’t have to like it, but I do.” With that, he nonchalantly slid his hand onto my thigh and started rubbing it casually.
Agitation and joking, that’s what our relationship had always been about. And even now, with the absurdity of a faked funeral and a high-speed getaway, he still knew just how to push my buttons.
