Funerals
I used to have a hard time keeping a straight face at funerals. When I was young, the only kinds of funeral ceremonies I ever attended were Catholic ones. They are almost entirely devoid of light-hearted or even poignant moments, in my experience. Instead, such occasions are concerned mostly with priests warning you about the danger your immortal soul is in if you continue your sinful ways and telling you about Jesus. Anyway, the build-up of emotion caused by this unsatisfactory vehicle for sending off your loved one would inevitably explode in titters and giggles over silly little things. So this story is about, what if a time-traveler from a future free of permanent death attended a funeral like that? Without the necessary context? What would they think? Also, what if it was an assignment for an anthropology class?
Flash Fiction: Anthropology
By Ronan McNamee
Attendance at a funeral was felt to be the ideal introduction to a society. It was a shock, that’s what it was. Why did the man in the robes spend so much time talking about this Jesus fellow? I thought the death-victim’s name was Gary. Why did everyone keep sitting and standing and kneeling? Why was no-one attempting to revive the deceased? I honestly felt as though I should intervene when I realised they had locked the poor man in a little box. Call a Reviv Team!
When they informed us all we were to proceed to the graveyard outside the pointy building I grew truly scared. They intended to bury the poor man! Perhaps he had been a criminal; perhaps this was his punishment. What sort of crime could warrant such barbaric cruelty, though? How could these people (some of them
called themselves Gary’s family for crying out loud!) sustain such a desire for vengeance once the man had already died. He must have been a terrible dictator or CEO of some kind, like Aldorf Hipler or Donal Drumpf? Perhaps he deserved it?
Outside, I discovered many marked graves. By the dates of death many of the incarcerated had been buried for decades. Far past their sell-by dates; no chance of reviving them anymore. I felt sick. I gave my left clavicle a rub to release some Calm. I relaxed and smiled at the woman next to me. “Did he steal something valuable?” I asked her as we shuffled together out of the pointy building into the rain. Her eyes, previously quivering with sympathy and sadness, turned hard and grey, her mouth drooped and she shook her head, turning to speak to the man beside her.
“What did you say to my wife?” said the tall, shiny-headed man to me. I looked to either side but he was definitely looking at me. I pointed at myself. He glared, tears streaking his face.
“What did you say about Gary?”
“I simply wished to understand his crime,” I wished I had read the preparatory pamphlet before I got myself into this.
“Crime?! You little toerag,” said the man lunging at my face with his fist, his fist! I had been struck by a human being at a funeral. I felt that I was beginning to understand the culture. It was one of violence and vengeance and lies.
“I just wanted to understand this funeral ritual!” I screamed. I feared for my own life now. The bald man was gaining allies from the crowd of brutes collected there by the graveyard.
“Understand it? I’ll give you one of your own, you fucker!” I turned and ran down the lane with the mob following. I rounded a corner and whispered, out of breath and scared witless, “Return, please, please please, Return.
And here I am, making this report to you.
What do you mean, failed? You can’t fail me for that! They were out for blood! Unfair test!
The Dice Pool 