Death at a funeral

I hate sad stories, what I hate even more is telling sad stories. What is even more upsetting, it is not easy adding humor in the story because you will look so dark and with no empathy. 

That night was silent. It was not the silence that makes you fearful, no it was a silence that was beautiful and as you stare into the darkness you wondered about your life or if you are lucky you snuggle a bit in your sleep, contented. 

The only sound that put a pause of that silence was my phone ringing, and after a brief conversation with the person at the other end, I hang up. 

As I looked at the time on my phone, I realized that it was  3 am. 3 in the morning that I got the news. The images I was sent afterwards were devastating and dreadful. No one deserved to go like that. You might be wondering why at 3 in the morning, I would be awake.

Sleep had deserted me just like that. It wasn’t because of the cold, or my bed wasn’t comfortable, I just have no idea why I was awake at that time. If I was superstitious, I would say village witches were working overtime. 

This is the reason, 

maybe 

I might be having nightmares. 

Someone somewhere might testify to me almost unscrewing his head off his neck one time because I woke up suddenly in the middle of their prank and swung my fist hard. 

A few moments later after properly waking up from my slumber as I was heading over to fetch some water to drink, I found the unlucky victim who had unfortunately had a collision with my fist groaning in severe pain.

The week went by uneventful and finally the day of the burial arrived. I went to the burial, sat through the service with those images of his demise playing on my mind as his eulogy was being read. 

I caught bits of what was being said. A bit of a young life had been snuffed out, the people he has left behind, whoever caused his death should be made to pay, etc. The service ended and it was time to go over to bury the body. 

It was a closed casket as the body was badly mutilated. I felt pity and sad for the parents, their child gone before them. As the body was being lowered into the grave, I observed people talking in low tones, and grief hang throughout the air heavily like pregnant rain clouds. 

As we stood, I noticed my laces were undone and as I bent down to tie my them it triggered a sequence of things to happen so fast after that. 

One I felt something suddenly splash on my back, two the person in front of me fell with a thud and the confusion that emanated with people running helter skelter was something else. 

As I was figuring out my next course of action, I was roughly stood up and a sharp knife pressed against my ribs. A voice rough and husky whispered to me as we walked to a black van waiting at the far end of the field, 

“If you don’t follow what I say,

I won’t hesitate to cut out your liver,

and eat it.”