Maybe I was imagining things, but two minutes into the funeral, I saw his hand twitch. The priest was consoling the grieving church while I was fixed on his body.
Something's not right.
His mum went next, did the usual speech of how great her son was. Yeah, like he's perfect.
Sometimes I wish I could stand up and yell ‘Speak the truth, ma! Talk shit about the person if the person was a piece of shit!’ but who am I to change the world? I'm not even in the family.
Heck, I'm not even a part of this funeral.
What am I doing here?
...then, the craziest thing happened. He rose up. The DEAD BODY rose up! And everyone just sat, their bored faces, like this was some normal shit. Even his mum?! This is some messed up church.
‘Cut!’
Cut? I turned and saw who I presumed to be a director with a camcorder in one hand, a movie script— I think— in the other hand.
I'm in a movie?
What's going on?
