You never realize how ugly you are until you've seen your own corpse lying in a casket. Then again you never realize how weird life is until you've left it, or at least that's how I feel. Then again, I'm surprised I feel at all, considering I'm dead. So here I am sitting upon the cross of the the holy father, the man I swore my soul to, the man I thought would grant me a peaceful death. I'm sitting on this cross watching my own funeral, watching those I loved and those I even hate solemnly walking down the aisle, shoes scuffing against red carpet, and bodies adorned in black shuffling past wooden pews.
The Pastor is supposedly sending me off, asking the lord to take my spirit into the golden gates of Heaven. I still can't get over the fact that I'm dead and witnessing my faith get torn to pieces by the truth, whatever at least I'm not in hell. Fiery demons and sadistic or masochistic spirits getting tortured for eternity just doesn't float my boat.
Speaking of floating, being Ethereal is the single weirdest thing I've ever been through, I'm not only incapable of touching people but I can't really touch things, and the effort required to try to " sit" on this cross is, in all honesty, a freaking chore. Remaining focused at your own funeral is hard considering that I'm watching my father take his place at the podium and give a speech about me.
He spoke of my success, of the times we had together, he joked around, hell I even laughed with him. Then he just kind of lost it, he was mid-sentence talking about how if it wasn't my math grades that would kill me, it was all the craziness our family went through, when he hit the word "kill", he fell dead silent, no pun intended, and his knuckles tightened on the wooden podium. His knuckles white as his grip strengthened, his face tightened and trying to force back the tears he wanted to relinquish so much. I felt his pain, his grief, his regret, and I too tried to force back my ethereal tears that began to swell in my eyes. I felt pain because of all those who ever knew me and had enough thought had shown up, they had cared all this time. My grief came from the fact that all those I loved had to experience such pain and loss, I hated it so very much and wanted to curse the heavens for making not only them, but myself as well, watch this. My regret came from the fact that I left my beloved Irene behind. I clenched my fists and let my anger rise, my body fighting off the raw emotion that wanted to explode outward.
My eyes shifted around the Cathedral that my corpse and my attendants all crowded in. Angels decorated the pillars, powder white stone carvings of the very beings that were supposed to come and take me away. I felt anger towards them, I wanted to break those statues but even if I tried I couldn't, I'd just phase right through. The stained glass windows reflected the sunlight that beat down on small area in which my casket, the podium, and my father were located. His head had drooped downward and he started to move off back down to the pews. It was so ironic, the golden light and the glass image of the Archangel Michael lifting Jesus into Heaven, yet even with the terribly cliché and ironic lighting, there was still no angel.
I hoped down from the Cross and walked down the aisle as everyone sat and had a moment of silence. I still had the same clothes from the night of my death, minus the gunshot wound to the heart. A pair of tan cargo pants and a White dress-shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. In a sea of black I was the only thing wearing white, way to be a non conformist I told myself. I tried to feel each and every step I took, instead I was met with a numbing sensation as my spirit interacted with the physical world. It was like having your limbs fall asleep, having the sensation of being filled with salt and needles or something like that. I finally made it through the red aisle, past the wooden benches, and past the black mass of people, to my casket. I stared my self down, taking in every feature, my hair was cut to a medium length, Dark brown curls everywhere, prominent cheekbones, dimples, ears a little on the big side, a heavy medium if anything, lips not too small and not too large, god I looked good. Well not now anyway, I looked like I had come down with some horrendous disease and was sleeping in absolute agony. Dressed in a business suit, as I like to call them, I was suited up and ready to go to the afterlife for my interview with God, guess my appointment was rescheduled.
My father,my brother, two of my uncles, two of my cousins, and my best friend Patrick, all flanked my casket. "This is it Benjamin." I said to myself. I was now in the process of being carried out to be thrown in the ground six feet under the earth. I would've rather been burned and have my ashes cast into the wind or given to my family. But I guess I didn't get to live long enough to make that choice.
The Pastor is supposedly sending me off, asking the lord to take my spirit into the golden gates of Heaven. I still can't get over the fact that I'm dead and witnessing my faith get torn to pieces by the truth, whatever at least I'm not in hell. Fiery demons and sadistic or masochistic spirits getting tortured for eternity just doesn't float my boat.
Speaking of floating, being Ethereal is the single weirdest thing I've ever been through, I'm not only incapable of touching people but I can't really touch things, and the effort required to try to " sit" on this cross is, in all honesty, a freaking chore. Remaining focused at your own funeral is hard considering that I'm watching my father take his place at the podium and give a speech about me.
He spoke of my success, of the times we had together, he joked around, hell I even laughed with him. Then he just kind of lost it, he was mid-sentence talking about how if it wasn't my math grades that would kill me, it was all the craziness our family went through, when he hit the word "kill", he fell dead silent, no pun intended, and his knuckles tightened on the wooden podium. His knuckles white as his grip strengthened, his face tightened and trying to force back the tears he wanted to relinquish so much. I felt his pain, his grief, his regret, and I too tried to force back my ethereal tears that began to swell in my eyes. I felt pain because of all those who ever knew me and had enough thought had shown up, they had cared all this time. My grief came from the fact that all those I loved had to experience such pain and loss, I hated it so very much and wanted to curse the heavens for making not only them, but myself as well, watch this. My regret came from the fact that I left my beloved Irene behind. I clenched my fists and let my anger rise, my body fighting off the raw emotion that wanted to explode outward.
My eyes shifted around the Cathedral that my corpse and my attendants all crowded in. Angels decorated the pillars, powder white stone carvings of the very beings that were supposed to come and take me away. I felt anger towards them, I wanted to break those statues but even if I tried I couldn't, I'd just phase right through. The stained glass windows reflected the sunlight that beat down on small area in which my casket, the podium, and my father were located. His head had drooped downward and he started to move off back down to the pews. It was so ironic, the golden light and the glass image of the Archangel Michael lifting Jesus into Heaven, yet even with the terribly cliché and ironic lighting, there was still no angel.
I hoped down from the Cross and walked down the aisle as everyone sat and had a moment of silence. I still had the same clothes from the night of my death, minus the gunshot wound to the heart. A pair of tan cargo pants and a White dress-shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. In a sea of black I was the only thing wearing white, way to be a non conformist I told myself. I tried to feel each and every step I took, instead I was met with a numbing sensation as my spirit interacted with the physical world. It was like having your limbs fall asleep, having the sensation of being filled with salt and needles or something like that. I finally made it through the red aisle, past the wooden benches, and past the black mass of people, to my casket. I stared my self down, taking in every feature, my hair was cut to a medium length, Dark brown curls everywhere, prominent cheekbones, dimples, ears a little on the big side, a heavy medium if anything, lips not too small and not too large, god I looked good. Well not now anyway, I looked like I had come down with some horrendous disease and was sleeping in absolute agony. Dressed in a business suit, as I like to call them, I was suited up and ready to go to the afterlife for my interview with God, guess my appointment was rescheduled.
My father,my brother, two of my uncles, two of my cousins, and my best friend Patrick, all flanked my casket. "This is it Benjamin." I said to myself. I was now in the process of being carried out to be thrown in the ground six feet under the earth. I would've rather been burned and have my ashes cast into the wind or given to my family. But I guess I didn't get to live long enough to make that choice.
