The coffin was light because she was old and somewhat diminished when she was placed inside. But the surface looked like metal and no matter what we said, he assumed it had a weight to it. In a break with protocol he climbed low on to the counter, squatted like an athlete doing deadlifts at the gym and lifted. Of course it was too hard and too fast and the unexpected lightness of it flipped him. He travelled backwards to the floor in a motion that was both ungainly and unnecessary. The coffin fell too and we scrambled after it, trying to restore some dignity to the situation. We said nothing because there was nothing more to add at this point. Nothing we hadn’t said already. When he tried again, the hardest part was manoeuvring it into the lift. Not the weight of it this time, the angles— You can take death out of the day job but it takes longer to shift it from your dreams. It’s hot in London and the suburbs. A city with limited aircon pushing hot air around hot rooms with weak…
No comments yet. Log in to reply on the Fediverse. Comments will appear here.