A Conversation About Someone's Death - 2 (Fiction)

"When going to be buried?" Asked Caucasians who crouched behind the desk, looking for something on the floor.

"This afternoon," someone replied.

"Where?"

"Garden Avenue. But soon his body will be taken."

"Where?"

"To a chapel, not far from here. Already hundreds of mourners waiting there."

"He was godly, perhaps? You're going to get there?"

"If there is time."

"Too bad."

"Well, we just pray."

"Do you often pray?"

“Sometimes.”

"Also for the dead departed from this funeral home? So much every day? Then, have you ever felt your prayers be answered?"

"I hope my prayers ease the pain of their close relatives. God answered? I dunno. If my heart is moving, every time the bodies were transported from here, I whispered to myself, to God, before I die someday, maybe you're escorted to a place there."

His friend smiled. "Maybe he was pious. Both are also praying for him even if only silently. At the very least, to calm the heart, as he waited as you say."

"We're ready or not, a long train is waiting for us. In the terminal time. Departure time we do not know. Tickets are already available there. Never run out. Anytime."

Both Caucasians were standing in the doorway. Both nodded to the mourners who slowly passed.

Melancholy songs in different languages filled the chapel. The chapel was filled with mourners from various tribes. Asians dominate, some sympathizers of white people scattered among them. Open coffin was placed near the altar. The bodies were buried in it seemed quite like a sleeping person.

Quiet as a freeze when the pastor was in the pulpit. With a deep voice and heavy, he greeted the audience who mourn. Conveying greetings and prayers prosper. Then he invited the choir to sing a song of sorrow and hope. All eyes to the members of the choir who wear black robes. People gasped when the word amen long reverberate.

Long silence. Pastor took a deep breath before he could begin his sermon.

To be continued