The Final Word

Death.

It was such a final word and yet it just isn’t.

Lucy hadn’t expected to be able to attend her own funeral. 

Lucy also hadn’t expected to die. 

The manner of her demise was a mystery to her and everyone else. One minute she was walking into her home and the next she was lying in a pool of her own blood watching Micheal pace back and forth crying on his mobile phone as her life seeped away.

He had seemed genuinely distressed and she had hated leaving him, but the blow to the back of her head was just too severe. 

Then she just hated him, particularly when he brought a date to her funeral. 

“Well, that’s a turn of events.” Thought Lucy.

Her parents were understandably upset by Micheal’s insensitivity and told him so. 

“Cerise has been a good friend to me and Lucy,” Micheal offered weakly.

Lucy had never met Cerise; however, her perfume smelt strangely familiar, much like the weird scent that had wafted about their bedroom one afternoon. She had commented about it to Micheal and was shocked to see the bottle of said perfume in the bathroom the next day.

“I gave it to you last month. Don’t you remember? You’ve been wearing it everyday since. You poor thing, you’ve been working so hard, you’ve probably forgotten.” He had hugged her and suggested a spa weekend with her girlfriends. 

Scumbag. 

Lucy was pleased to see the detectives in charge of her case at the funeral looking somber and annoyed.

Micheal, seeing the detectives was not so pleased, and during the ceremony rose to address the congregation to wax lyrical about what a giving and loving person Lucy had been; how distressed he’d been to come home and find her dead. 

“Hey,” thought Lucy. “I wasn’t dead when you got home.”

Lucy wafted over to Cerise, almost gagged as the liberally applied perfume assaulted her senses, and whispered into her ear. “He killed his wife. You will be next.”

Cerise blinked her massively augmented eyelashes as her massively augmented bosom heaved. 

Lucy whispered again, “You’ll be next.” 

Cerise got up and started to hurriedly totter from the room on her bright red stilettos. 

Micheal paused his crocodile tears at the podium. “Cerise, where are you going?”

“You killed your wife!” Cerise called over her shoulder as tottered faster toward the door. “I don’t want to be next.”

Shocked outrage emanated from the congregation. 

Micheal, realising his error, sought to rectify the situation. “Now, now, everyone. I didn’t kill Lucy. I loved Lucy.”

The detectives stood up and moved toward him. 

“What are you doing?” Micheal squeaked. “You can’t prove anything.”

“The security cameras at your home indicate that you were home when your wife came home on the night she died,” the head detective announced.

“Security cameras? We don’t have security cameras!” 

“Apparently, your wife installed them after a number of items went missing from your home and you refused to take her seriously,” the detective continued. 

There was an audible gasp from the crowd as they all turned to stare at Micheal who looked to Cerise standing in the doorway, “Babe! I told you not to take stuff.”

“I like nice things.” Cerise then dramatically swept from the room but stayed within viewing distance so she could film everything for her Instagram page. 

“Your phone records indicate that you were on the phone for two hours after your wife was killed before your called emergency.” The detective added.

Cerise popped her head back through the door. “Yeah! He called me to tell me that he was leaving his wife because he loved me. He said he was crying because he was so happy to be able to finally be honest about his love for me.” She turned the camera on her phone to capture her dabbing non-existent tears before adding, “I feel soooo betrayed.”

“You feel betrayed,” thought Lucy.

Lucy smiled as she watched Micheal being led away in handcuffs from her funeral. 

Death. 

Such a final word, and yet it just isn’t.