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Gladys’s Funeral.
Sitting alone trying to catch her breath, Jill’s placating smile greets her neighbour to the right. He nods a bereft grin back. The oration is being given by a nervous young chap dressed in tears and breath curdling sobs. , Funerals are so sad! Jill thinks.
As her breath stills, she takes a glance around at the congregation. Looking through the sea of sunken heads and rocking shoulders. She cannot see Anne. That’s strange, she thinks. She can’t see Anne’s brother either. She recognises Gladys though, she’s the chick in the big coffin.
“Every day, (blub blub) John would come into work,’ the young lad said. ‘ (blub) with some stupid joke or crazy story. (blub blub) He was always (blub, glub) up for a laugh, “ He blew his nose into a hankie. Another man with a rouge long stemmed rose, nods confirmation at Jill. He fiddles with the thorns and his tissue.
She reflects on the last time she saw Gladys, with her hair splayed and blood dripping from a annular. Then the sombre atmosphere was broken as the usher came glided towards her. Calmly he kneeled by her side and offered her a copy of the order of service. Without a tear, Jill whispered a gracious thank you. His gown swivelled, he moved smoothly back up the aisle. Jill composed herself and turned the pamphlet over.
In her hand she held the picture of dearly departed John Smith. He glared at her. A huge six foot man, with rotten teeth and a frame that must have weighed twenty five stone. THAT SHE DID NOT KNOW!
I’m in the wrong funeral. This isn’t Gladys’ funeral. They could fit three of Gladys in there.
Her body went rigid then capsized into a cocoon. Her torso was about to explode into rapturous giggles, how could she hold it back? Tightening her hips and thighs, she squeezes her knees together taut. Her carcass heaves abdomen-wrenching hysteria.
Compassionately, the man next to her, caresses her shoulder to console. His sorrow could not dampen her stupidity. Her arched back heaved, she was convulsing as laughter exploded. She could not thank him, she could not look at him. She wanted to run, but where can anyone run in a flipping funeral full of morners.
She sneakily checks the text with the invite on it. “Oh no, it says 11 not 1.” “Wear you’re damned Glasses JILL!”
The widowed wife at the front with the same black fascinator, turned. She marched up to Jill with rage roaring behind her cheeks. A piercing scream howled from her voice box. It echoed around the auditorium as everyone turned and pointed.
“It’s her. Not only did she steal my sex-life, she’s stealing the happiest day too. Go on Love, you can have the pleasure of pressing the button.’
I am a satirical author and have written three novels which I am now releasing into the big wide world. Slut Detox is my first and it is free on this blog page. Slap Dash Queen is coming soon, then Office Gossip. I am now in the process of writing – Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. These are all powerful novels with an edge of Self Development lessons, running through their veins.
Check out my website for details. I would love to have some feedback, please leave a like or a comment.
Slut Detox the novel is available at amazon.co.uk ….https://goo.gl/638XWc
Slapdash Queen is available at amazon … https://goo.gl/quG0Gm
Office Gossip is coming in summer 2017
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A Anderson Mature stories and poems 