Masquerade
When Fred told his wife that
morning that he was going to buy the newspaper, little could she imagine that
the police would knock on their door an hour later to tell her that her husband
had died in a car accident. Apparently his car had smashed into a guard rail on
the M-30 highway.
During the
hours before the funeral, Mary couldn’t stop wondering where he was driving.
He always bought the paper from the newsstand on the corner.
Mass was
quiet. Children, friends and colleagues hadn’t expected to attend a death so
soon. The few whispers running through the halls and vaults were those that
praised the generosity and honesty, the good father and even better husband he
had been, now lying before them. Nobody skimped on flowers, wreaths and more
than one of the mourners even wrote poetry.
Right before
being closed up, two sinister whistles echoed inside the coffin.
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