My uncle always preferred the thought of cremation. You know, an urn full of fake flowers on a shelf or scattering his ashes over the ocean. A quiet kind of farewell--graceful and dignified without taking up a bunch of space. He didn't want to be buried, but they didn't listen. The funeral was really nice, though. There were lots of flowers--daffodils, roses, lilies. My mother had grown them inside. We don't have much space in the house because of all of Mother's flowers. Then again, she says it keeps things nice, like they used to be.
But my uncle didn't really like flowers, living ones at least.
They feed off of dead things, my uncle always said. I thought that was mushrooms or that white fungus that grows on old bark. Either way, my parents didn't listen. They wanted something nice.
Oh, and there was music, too, at my uncle's funeral. The kind he used to always listen to. Maybe he can still hear it. The coffin is pretty thick, though.
Still, my uncle didn't want to be buried.
Before they bury me, I sure hope they kill me first.
YOU ARE READING
TEDDY BEAR HEADS
HorrorThis collection of dark poetry and flash fiction wants you to come and play. After all, even the things that live in the dark get lonely . . .
