The softly lit room was filled with scattered clusters of black-clothed mourners conversing about a range of things from mortgages, lawns, and gutters to the exorbitant cost of education and where to get the best deal on a new set of tires.
The old man laying silently in the coffin on the other side of the room with his hands crossed over his chest in the shadow of a gleaming silver crucifix mounted on the wall was at this point in the morning just a centerpiece. These were the last moments' air or light would ever touch his flesh.
This was seven-year-old Grace’s first such function. She stood at the opposite end of the room glancing at the gold trimmed pine box. In the child’s mind death was associated with instant putridity. Her imagination conjured up images of lumbering zombies with blood stained teeth protruding from the decaying flesh of their lipless mouths.
That this could be the new form of her dearly departed grandfather chilled the girl’s blood. She did not think herse…