Member-only story
FICTION
Screams Outside a Funeral
Our church protests one last time
“Hear, hear!” my brothers and sisters shouted as Father railed against blasphemers and homosexuals again. By this point in his speech, they couldn’t understand his slurred words, but that didn’t matter. They were responding to his enthusiasm.
All the mourners on the other side of the gate glared at us. The police had already told them that we had the right to be here. I felt so sorry for all of them, the widow in particular. She didn’t deserve to hear the screaming. The blowhorns.
As Father shouted in his megaphone, the widow marched over. Her family tried to stop her, but she pushed past them. She reached the gate and looked through the bars.
Father stopped.
“Please. Just be silent during the eulogy. Just give us five minutes.”
He called her a whore and spat on the ground.
I mouthed out the word “sorry.” I wanted more than anything to run away. I couldn’t. I still had three months until my 18th birthday.
The widow stared at Father. Her face went blank. Then she muttered something I couldn’t hear and returned to the funeral.
I expected Father to start scream again, but he didn’t. His mouth was moving…
