Everyone knew she was naked inside that coffin – the mourners, the pall-bearers, the altar boys – everyone. She’d not exactly been backwards in coming forwards, and her final wishes had spread through the community like wildfire.
Henry’s eulogy was a masterclass in widower’s grief, but as he took to the pulpit he could tell that the congregation paid his words no mind. Either through lust or envy, they were all thinking about those big ole boobs.
‘Though we didn’t meet till later life…’
…He stole a glance at a man in the second row – Ron – a Vietnam veteran whose thousand yard stare drifted towards a tree-line filled with an orgy of insurgents. He and Henry’s wife had been lovers during the 70’s and tales of their debauchery were the stuff of legend.
‘…We crammed an eternity into those few short months…’
Manny and Tony in the fourth row – the instigators of an epic menage-a-trois if stories were to be believed.
‘And though she had…a number of partners…before I was blessed to…’
At the back of the church an overly made up wreck in a leopard-print dress guffawed and warmed herself with the memories of a long distant kinky phase.
‘…I consider myself her soul mate.’
A conveyor belt whirred, the wooden tube penetrated a velvet curtain and the congregation stiffened somewhat.
Afterwards the priest solemnly presented Henry with an urn, turned to leave and, presumably thinking he was out of earshot, murmured: ‘What a piece of ash!’
Written for: #WritePhoto