Morgue Drawer Four by Profijt Jutta

Author:Profijt,Jutta
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2011-12-12T16:00:00+00:00

FIVE

The moment I had secretly been scared stiff of the whole time had finally arrived: my funeral. Naturally, I hadn’t anticipated attending it. Well, that is, I hadn’t anticipated naturally attending it. My body was the main attraction, you know. I had successfully suppressed any thought that I, that is, my own consciousness, would watch myself be buried. Suppression was now a thing of the past.

“Do we have to?” I asked Martin.

“Yes,” he replied.

Why was he being so curt now? Today, at the most difficult hour of my life when we were about to watch me being lowered into the ground? I needed emotional support, and Martin was being kind of an asshole.

“But I don’t want to,” I said.

“Then I’ll drop you off at the Institute,” he said.

Heh, that’s what he was planning the whole time! My body is being taken away, my morgue drawer reassigned, and he thinks in all seriousness he can just ditch me in that hideous high-rise?

“What am I supposed to do there?” I asked.

Now I had him. Martin froze in mid-motion. His fingers, which wanted to tie his shoelaces, started to tremble. Well, my dear Martin, you apparently didn’t think that far in advance. My only Attachment Figure in the whole, entire world is YOU! I didn’t think I’d ever be able to shake the panic I saw shooting through his brain. His best friend now thought he was overworked—at the very least. But in any case Gregor hadn’t believed a single word, that was quite clear. Other people such as his colleagues and managers would certainly not be as ginger in their assessment of his mental health. Crazy, they’d say, and Martin—I could sense it at this moment with full-on clarity—was starting to firmly embrace the notion that he would in fact go crazy if I kept haunting around in his head.

“I think you should come,” he said in a less-than-firm voice. “Maybe it’ll be good for you to see your parents one more time.”

Now I was the one who was shocked. My parents. Oh, God.

No one said anything.

Maybe that was his idea. For me to cleave back to my parents, leave him in peace, and move back home. Back into my old room with posters of Ferraris and Pamela Anderson on the wall. But my room probably didn’t exist anymore; my father had presumably converted it into a study, or my mother into a dressing room. Whatever it was, I would go along to my funeral because I knew very well that otherwise I would obsess night after night about what it had been like. How my parents had looked. What my coffin looked like, and whether I would have liked the grave site. I slipped behind Martin through the living room door, climbed into the trash can with him, and was silent, just like him. You might have taken us for an old married couple the way we were driving to my funeral, each lost in our own thoughts.

The cemetery looked the way cemeteries do in winter.

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