'Seventeen years,' thought Allen, as made his way to the
chapel. 'Seventeen years of memories, of
pain and anger. Of history.'
The uphill road drew him ever onward and inward;
conversations with family, overheard hushed whispers, and ribald calls all
reminded him of the once busy thoroughfare.
Feet faithfully finding their way, Allen was free to dwell on shadows of
sound.
As he approach the closed door, a sudden chill crawled down
his spine.
Newly drenched with old sweat, Allen quietly opened the
heavy oak door.
His ears, expecting a small creek, were disappointed to hear
only the wind shift slightly as the door opened quietly.
Stepping quietly inside, the man at the podium seemed about
to speak - and Allen, not wishing to draw any more attention, closed the door
and took a back pew.
Finishing a quick prayer, Allen looked up again - and
realized the speaker had not moved.
The backs of fifty or so visible heads all seemed focused on
the casket next to the podium.
'That ... I'd recognize that casket anywhere!' thought
Allen, as he quietly stood and made his way to the casket.
'It doesn't make sense, ' thought Allen, as he walked slowly
to the wooden box. 'That was for my
brother.'
Halfway to the podium, Allen looked to the others in wonder
- each seemed to be leaning toward the casket ... but not moving.
Turning slowly around, Allen looked in wonder as the man to
his left looked to be entirely composed of wax.
Gasping quietly to himself, Allen quickly surveyed everyone
in the pews.
'Wax! They're all
wax!' thought Allen, as he backed towards the podium in horror.
As he bumped into the dais, Allen turned around and looked into
the casket.
The layers of cloth and heavily-applied make-up did nothing
to hide the clearly-recognizable face of Allen's brother.
As Allen drew closer, he sharply took in breath as the smell
of wax grew quickly too intense for comfort.
'But, if this body is wax,' Allen thought to himself, as he
quietly made his way back outside, 'who did we bury seventeen years ago?'