If Marilyn Manson had 3 Days to live: The Conclusion Story

Million Man Mourning "(Death of the Day)"

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All things moved slowly this day. The people, the music, the doors swinging open to allow us in, the words exchanged between the mourners, the sermon itself.

I wasn't surprised.

It was a sunny room on a Sunday morning. I knew no one in this parlor, and I knew no one in Ohio. Brian was born here forty three years ago, this was where he was from. I felt like I stood on the outside looking in, I should be crying with everyone else, remembering a friend lost. I should be taken into peoples' arms and thanked.

I wasn't surprised. I wasn't.

No one knew me. No one was with me. I took a cab out here around 4 o'clock this morning from Chicago (basically running away for this special occasion), the interstate carrying me, as it seemed, right to this sight.

People from all directions dressed in black approached this small Ohio resting home.

One man approached me, he looked like the kind of man you'd be certain was a forgetful old person until I saw the white collar. A priest.

"Hello sister, what is your name?"

In his hands was a register. Lots of people's names were on it.

I looked up to him, "I won't be on there, I'm not from around here."

He shook his head and tisked "I'm sorry. But, this is a private funeral, friends and relatives only. Normally it'd be okay to have you here, but, see this," he floated to a wide rectangular window and pulled back the curtain. An accumulation of people stretching a hundred miles to the highway, more people than I had initially seen in the front. THOUSANDS more. "this is not appropriate. We're laying a man to rest, not sharing him one last time with his fans. No matter who he is."

"I'm not a fan. I knew him, honest."

"How, sister?"

I was never treated like this. Not by anyone. I've never been called sister like that. It made me feel assured. . .  and. . .  floaty? Was this what being Christian was like?

"I'm Alice Madden. I was his art apprentice last year." I didn't think adding anything else would make it more credible. He had to believe me, that was all. He said okay to my amazement. Usually people wanted proof in the real world, but this was Christian world, I guess.

I began to enter the threshold where the serious stuff happened when he stopped me again.

"Miss Madden, may I ask you something?"

"Yes," I added shyly, "father."

"Are you a believer?"

I couldn't answer the question if I had a thousand years to think it over. I hadn't believed in anything all my life. Never have I held on blindly to an idea because I had believed in it.

I needed reason, proof, evidence. Did I believe? Did I ever give myself the chance?

He was a chief upholder of the community of God. I couldn't say anything I was thinking, nothing negative. I was respectful of whoever I met. Luckily at that moment, someone got his attention and he excused himself.

I stole away into a bathroom, staring myself down in the mirror.

I didn't sleep last night. Not since the nightmare where Brian was talking to me. I couldn't face hearing his voice again.

Folds beneath my eyes exemplified the fact I had journeyed all night to be here. Arriving minutes ago. I added makeup to the landfill to hide the evidence. I was a guilded beauty today.