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I woke up to complete darkness.
Where was I? My woozy mind struggled to regain my bearings and what the heck had happened, but all I had to cling to was complete and utter darkness. I used my hands to feel around.
Four narrow walls.
Four narrow walls? I lifted up my head and bumped up against a ceiling.
Pinprick memories of the past few hours started to return. I remembered...a funeral parlor. A coffin. Wait, a coffin?
Oh my God, I’d been buried alive!
In a complete Spanish panic, I started to claw and push my way out from confinement. I went totally Uma Thurman from Kill Bill (Part Deux)! My hands pushed up against the narrow ceiling, I tried to free myself from the narrow cell I found myself trapped in. And all too quickly, I heard a ripping of fabric and the ceiling gave way. There was a loud crash next to me, and then, I was free.
Alive! Now I knew how Martin Luther King felt-I felt free at last, free at last, thank God I was free at last! I lay there, panting and sweaty, and feeling better than after a good night of anal stimulation.
Well, almost.
And then, and only then, I started to get my bearings. I was still in the dark, but it was no longer the heavy oppressing darkness I had been enclosed in, like a fly trapped in amber. I saw a darkened ceiling above me and what appeared to be some sort of plant life to my side. Plant life?
Yes! Violets...and roses. A wedding bouquet? Strange, dear, but true. And to my right, there seemed to be a large dark box...and next to that, mere inches from my fingers, what appeared to be a battered picture frame.
Using all the strength remaining, I strained my fingers to reach for it. Careful, careful! The glass inside the heavy mahogany frame was clearly cracked and broken. I dragged the frame to my chest, lifted it up. Squinted my eyes to read in the darkness.
Although the photo in the frame had ripped, I could still decipher the inscription. “Loving husband, first rate realtor, master thespian.”
Egad! I knew exactly where I was. I remembered precisely what had occurred. In a rush, the events of the evening came back to me. I had been spying. Then, I knew just how Jesus felt. Then, a whispered confession, right before darkness fell.
And somehow, no one ever realized I was passed out cold underneath a cold corpse! What a damn amateurish funeral home this was. Hadn’t it occurred to anyone to look under the coffin before turning out the lights? Which meant I was all alone in the funeral parlor, just me and my dead corpse.
A creepy feeling...well, crept over me, as I realized that I was surrounded by stiffs, including the one stiff that had reason to hate me. It was a complete Night of the Living Dead moment.
( Turn over, darling. You know I like it better that way. )
Where was I? My woozy mind struggled to regain my bearings and what the heck had happened, but all I had to cling to was complete and utter darkness. I used my hands to feel around.
Four narrow walls.
Four narrow walls? I lifted up my head and bumped up against a ceiling.
Pinprick memories of the past few hours started to return. I remembered...a funeral parlor. A coffin. Wait, a coffin?
Oh my God, I’d been buried alive!
In a complete Spanish panic, I started to claw and push my way out from confinement. I went totally Uma Thurman from Kill Bill (Part Deux)! My hands pushed up against the narrow ceiling, I tried to free myself from the narrow cell I found myself trapped in. And all too quickly, I heard a ripping of fabric and the ceiling gave way. There was a loud crash next to me, and then, I was free.
Alive! Now I knew how Martin Luther King felt-I felt free at last, free at last, thank God I was free at last! I lay there, panting and sweaty, and feeling better than after a good night of anal stimulation.
Well, almost.
And then, and only then, I started to get my bearings. I was still in the dark, but it was no longer the heavy oppressing darkness I had been enclosed in, like a fly trapped in amber. I saw a darkened ceiling above me and what appeared to be some sort of plant life to my side. Plant life?
Yes! Violets...and roses. A wedding bouquet? Strange, dear, but true. And to my right, there seemed to be a large dark box...and next to that, mere inches from my fingers, what appeared to be a battered picture frame.
Using all the strength remaining, I strained my fingers to reach for it. Careful, careful! The glass inside the heavy mahogany frame was clearly cracked and broken. I dragged the frame to my chest, lifted it up. Squinted my eyes to read in the darkness.
Although the photo in the frame had ripped, I could still decipher the inscription. “Loving husband, first rate realtor, master thespian.”
Egad! I knew exactly where I was. I remembered precisely what had occurred. In a rush, the events of the evening came back to me. I had been spying. Then, I knew just how Jesus felt. Then, a whispered confession, right before darkness fell.
And somehow, no one ever realized I was passed out cold underneath a cold corpse! What a damn amateurish funeral home this was. Hadn’t it occurred to anyone to look under the coffin before turning out the lights? Which meant I was all alone in the funeral parlor, just me and my dead corpse.
A creepy feeling...well, crept over me, as I realized that I was surrounded by stiffs, including the one stiff that had reason to hate me. It was a complete Night of the Living Dead moment.
( Turn over, darling. You know I like it better that way. )
