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Open Casket


“I’ll give you a moment,” Tom said, ever the respectful brother.

“Please stay,” Susan asked. “If you leave me here I might jump in with him.” She had always been dramatic, but there was definite sincerity in her voice now.

“He’d love the absurdity of that. If it wasn’t his funeral he’d probably double-dog-dare you to do it.”

A laugh caught halfway in Susan’s throat, escaped a moment later as a sob.

“He was so funny, so full of life, so determined. Every day he’d tell me, ‘Susan, if all those supermodels beating down our door can’t take me away from you, how does cancer stand a chance?’”

“Supermodels?” Tom’s train of thought often struggled to build up steam. “Oh,” he muttered eventually, “he was joking.”

“I miss him so much. I hope he knows that.” Susan traced his cheek with her fingertips, bent and placed a trembling kiss on his unmoving lips. She pulled back slowly, shuddering with grief and leaving many tears in her wake.

“It’s hard, seeing him like this,” she sniffled. “I almost wish we hadn’t done open-casket.”

But I was happy she had. Torturous as it was, I was glad to feel her touch, her grieving kiss, her tears warming my pallid skin. And though I couldn’t breathe, much less move or share my appreciation of her gestures, they were precious sensations that I would hold dear in the long, cold silence that would follow the closing of the casket.

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source: by reddit user WriteOrWrongo via reddit.com/r/ShortScaryStories

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