A Day in the Life of a Funeral Advisor

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This story is really about a common day in the life of a bitter man who has given up on all ambitions. It also touches on our brief moments of false epiphanies, and the entrenched views and behaviors we find our selves in. I was just experimenting with some styles of writing with this one. I like some of the creative flash I put in it, content wise it's okay and a little unfocused. Perhaps I will write something that combines both in the future lol.

Submitted: March 23, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 23, 2015

A A A

A A A


Eyes opening briefly before closing once more. This continues from 5 minutes to upwards of one hour. Morning. My head and body seem to split like binary fission. They briefly come back together as I step into the shower. The steam bellows like the stack on an old train. I float on upstairs past the hodgepodge of daily duties screaming me me me! Like little children unable to yet comprehend that the world is not all about me me me. Afterwards I postpone my responsibilities because I really feel like watching TV and having some tea. I I I am a contradiction, don’t doubt my self-awareness on the first page now.


After the time warp assisted by my car, I enter the large building full of self-obsessed people with faux epicurean views. Hello, with plastic smiles. I return with my own elastic smile. I swear I’m not usually this paranoid schizophrenic but perhaps I’m only saying that to save face.


Entering the cubicle it seems to get increasingly smaller as if a man was suffocating me but letting me breathe just enough to keep living. Ted moves in on the desk adjacent to me. “You catch the game last night.” “Which one.” “The big football game you didn’t watch it!” I did for like five minutes. “Oh yeah that game was intense.” “I know [insert player’s name] had that catch the refs are so full of shit, it was a catch.” “I know what were they thinking.” I did not see a catch.


We go on to do our work, conversation seems to drift in and out like a flickering light. The smell of hellfire fills mine and Ted’s nostrils. Samantha comes in eyes red and pointed tail wagging. She speaks, rawr, eeer, gwhnar, ooo, hisss, which translates to why haven’t you done more work in the exact fashion I wanted you too like a mindless automated machine. Why don’t they just make an automated machine for this, surely there can’t be people so mindless that they actually enjoy this. Actually it has nothing to do with intelligence even the most moronic person can’t find this fulfilling or amusing. Yet I do this every day I suppose then I’m… Wow works done already, well okay then.


Arriving home it smells of Welsh hills, sandalwood, bergamot, and cardamom. Lindsey is coming over. I wait patiently nothing really else to do. Vision disperses consumed by the sounds of a voice that is never heard. The door opens. Greeted by a big genuine smile. Unlike the plastic ones from earlier this one fills me with delight.


On the bed, cause you don’t want to hear about anything else right you salty seadog and or sexually repressed house wife, we sit and talk, yeah I know I’m a tease. As we get more personal I remove my face revealing pulsating muscles and bloody veins, Lindsey winces. “If I’m going to kiss you, you have to put that face back on.” I oblige for I would like to kiss, and it’s more comfortable with the face on honestly. Without it the wind stings a bit and there’s this coldness.


“You ever think about dying.” Oh god here we go again, who doesn’t think about dying, she thinks she’s deep but this is such an uninteresting discussion. “Yeah sometimes.” Why can’t we just lay in silence after we fuck, her naked body is far more vulnerable and revealing then anything she’s about to “so isn’t it crazy that everyone is going to die one day I mean think about it.” “Yup.” “Doesn’t that just I don’t know..” she looks down. “What do you think happens after death?” “Nothing.” “You think that’s it? There has to be something I just know it I was raised Catholic I still kind of believe.” “You know I’m not religious, in fact I’m actually not a fan of religion, and yeah I think after we die that’s it, like a light bulb going out.” “You’re depressing, why are you not a fan of religion?” “I don’t want to talk about it it’ll start a fight.” “No it won’t I want to know.” I refuse to tell her and there is some silence before we start to talk about even more banal things.


Off to get late night coffee, for some reason I don’t want to sleep tonight. The coffee from a generic place to get coffee is like burnt ash in my mouth. At least I get a caffeine buzz. The people look like ghosts wandering around this place, I coulda swore the girl in the corner disappeared for a minute. Exiting I decide to light up a cigarette first making sure no one was going to walk up to me and say hey that’s bad for you you know. I’m well aware that’s why I do it, the words of Lemmy “I don’t want to live forever.” An older gentleman with a grey beard that makes me think of a sailor, damn you social conditioning, approaches me and lights a cigarette. After lighting his fag, wait this is America highly offensive ahem, after lighting his cigarette he looks at me and smiles a crusty yet friendly smile.


“I’ve seen you before, you always seem like you hate drinking that coffee, you pucker your lips up and all.” I begin to explain that I hate a lot of things not just this coffee, of course after first getting some of the basic formalities and niceties of having a conversation with a stranger out of the way.


The man sighs wisely. “So, you find your job unfulfilling, you abhor most people, don’t feel mentally stimulated by your girlfriend, and hate this coffee.” “Yeah among other things.” Why am I being so honest with this man, he doesn’t even smell of the sea like I imagined. “Well why don’t you just do things differently, why don’t you just do what makes you happy.” “I can’t just do that reality isn’t that simple.” “Why not, why hate everything?” We finish our second or was it third cigarette they burn so fast, and he bids me farewell.


Returning home and lying in bed I think about the man’s words. Why don’t I make a change? Why hate everything? I realize as I lie consumed by the black void that was once my room that I’m lazy and bitter. I complain and don’t try and actually find a new job or girlfriend, or even a new fucking coffee. Worse yet I put down all those around me who at least try to live their life, even if they are unhappy. Where does this sense of superiority stem from? Am I that much more interesting? Am I that much more intelligent? It’s completely possible for me to change my life. I should connect with more people instead of shunning them, I’m the one who is bringing negatives to the world.


Eyes opening briefly before closing once more. This continues from 5 minutes to upwards of one hour. Morning. I drive to work.
 

 


© Copyright 2020 Kenny Benko. All rights reserved.

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