12+  My hearse is lost.

We left the cortege vehicles with my ex-wife and family stuck at a red light. The hearse driver should have pulled over and waited for them, but instead, he took a wrong turn.

The driver looks young and inexperienced, like a gig worker filling a casual vacancy. He can't reset the GPS navigation, and his phone has no reception in the narrow lanes flanked by tall buildings.

I imagine my brother, the self-appointed family funny man, standing beside my empty grave at the cemetery. "I always said he'd be late to his own funeral!" 

Ha, ha! I'd like to kick his butt.

I'd also like to let the mourners know that, for once, this debacle is not my fault. But my spirit is tethered to my body until they lower the coffin into the grave and bury it. And communicating with the living would be difficult unless someone brings a Ouija board to the funeral. 

My death came out of the blue. One minute, I was sipping cocktails and chewing pitted olives. The next, I was choking on a hard pit. Unfortunately, my ex-wife wasn't at the bar with me that night because she's a retired nurse and could have performed the Heimlich manoeuvre.

But we separated years ago, which is why I was at the singles bar alone, hoping to meet a fellow middle-aged divorcee, share a few drinks, skip the pleasantries, and end up in bed. Instead, I ended up dead.

I'm a lapsed Catholic and gave up believing in Heaven and Hell long ago. So it was a surprise when I died to find my spirit floating in Purgatory. Thankfully, it's not the place of pain and punishment the old priest threatened us with at Sunday school before fondling kiddies in the cloisters. It's more like being trapped at an international airport terminal, where all you can do is wait for your flight. Though, you don't learn the destination until they bury the coffin and free your spirit. 

I was wrong about the afterlife and Purgatory, so Heaven and Hell may also exist. Just in case, I've rehearsed my lines for the Pearly Gates. It wasn't hard. I simply regurgitated the excuses I've used with my ex-wife and kids over the years and the half-truths I've told other family and friends. 

I didn't set out to be a lousy husband and father, disrespectful son and brother, and unreliable friend. But looking back, I ticked those boxes. If Saint Peter is waiting at the gates, I fear I won't fool him, and my spirit will disappear into the eternal fiery depths of Hell.

The hearse has escaped the maze of lanes, and we're speeding to the cemetery. Mock cheers and applause greet us at the grave. Bearers lower the coffin, and I sense my spirit is about to be released. 

I watch family and friends grieving for me and wish I had more time to apologise. And that someone had brought a Ouija board.

© 2024 Robert Fairhead

Thanks to Amy_Gillard for sharing the image of a Ouija board on Pixabay.

I wrote More Time and a Ouija Board in November 2024 for the Australian Writers' Centre's monthly Furious Fiction challenge. The brief was:

• The story must feature a character who arrives somewhere LATE
• The first sentence must contain only four words
• The story must also include the words SKIP, KICK, BLUE and DISAPPEAR (or longer variations retaining the original spelling).

When I read the character brief, the cliche phrase, "He'd be late to his own funeral", popped into my head. It gave me a narrator, the spirit of the recently departed body in the coffin, and my first sentence: "The hearse is lost."

I'm not a lapsed Catholic nor a believer of any religion. So, I had to research the possibility of a spirit world between earth and heaven or hell, should they exist. Purgatory fitted the bill, or at least a version of it.

My purgatory is not a place of pain and punishment, but somewhere a spirit can reflect on their lives and possibly apologise and atone for mistakes and misdeeds — assuming someone brings a Ouija board to the funeral!

I was pleased and proud when the Furious Fiction judges shortlisted More Time and a Ouija Board for November and that they rated mine as one of their favourite four-word opening sentences. 

However, the morning after submitting the story, I changed the original sentence from "My hearse is lost" to "The hearse is lost" because it worked better with the rest of the opening paragraph (as agreed by one of my reviewers, a young literary-type guy who works at my local bottle shop and whose mother is an editor!). 

Upon further reflection, the original is more impactful than the revised sentence, which is probably why the judges picked it. Which one do you prefer?

N.B. You might like to read my longlisted October 2024 Furious Fiction story, A Five-Act Play on Humanity.