A Funeral

Testing the limitations of his hand rolled cigarette, Corrado rapidly inhaled the soothing chemicals deep into the depths of his sixteen year old lungs. His large hands shook with each drag, reminding him of the painful tremors his late father had once suffered from. Unconcerned, he continued to smoke through the pain. Finishing one then quickly lighting up another. After chain smoking his entire stash, he was convinced that his shaking was due to the excessive amounts of nicotine he had just ingested. Combined with overwhelming anxiety and stress, he was able to calm his mind from the idea of succumbing to the same genetic fate of his father.

Out of cigarettes, he crumpled the pack into a ball of trash and crammed it deep within the chest pocket of his suit coat. Wiping away any remaining ash, he tugged hard on the onyx jacket to carve out the creases. Satisfied with his ensemble, he turned to face the ancient back door of the church; with a deep breath, he opened it. The old wood moaned as Corrado stepped through the threshold. With a heavy slam, the door was again shut. Corrado now faced a long, damp, poorly lit hallway. The corridor was narrow, wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side. Delicate lanterns hung from the ceiling, about six feet apart; illuminating the pathway of the tight passageway. At the opposite end, all Corrado could make out was the face of another archaic door.

What lay beyond that door was a fear he knew he did not possess the strength to face. He began to hold his breath; mimicking something his father used to do to help calm the tremors. Taking in the hallway, he gazed upon the decoration. The walls were painted deep hues of strange reds and awkward yellows. He turned his gaze downward to marvel at the carpet, it seemed to match the walls, except these yellows seemed darker; almost like gold. Glinting in the reflection of the perched lanterns, he could begin to make out faint symbols, along with unfamiliar images of long dead animals and strangely shaped people. Teetering back and forth, he quickly snapped back and remembered he was still holding his breath. Loosing balance, his legs gave out and he stumbled to his knees. Now, his face only a few inches away from the carpet, he could confirm that the yellows were not yellow, nor were the reds actually red. This carpet was impossibly woven with thousands of fine threads made from amber and gold. What a timeless treasure, he thought to himself. All of this, for a church carpet; seems like a waste, considering its purpose is to be walked on.

Satisfied with the fancy rug, he heaved his body upward; stretching out the kinks in his legs and lower back. "I hate this place." He said to himself. His voice began to echo off the walls, he decided he would followed its path. Completing the trek, Corrado arrived at the heavy door. He placed his right palm on the cold wood, followed by his right ear. Low hums and faint vibrations alerted he was late. The ceremony had begun without him. Damn cigarettes. He hated smoking, but ever since his father died, they were the only things keeping him calm. A nasty necessity. Knowing the door would surely moan and hiss as the previous one had, he hesitated before plunging. But he had no choice.

He had to see his father one final time.

So he opened the door.