Meet the Funeral Director

<Optionally, bar ambiances>

<Humming>

Who is there?

You're not the bartender. Your complexion isn't quite right. Hold on, come closer.

Oh my...a new face...

Well, isn't that a pleasant sight. Or...lack of. I can't actually see too much these days. I'll assume you're pretty. Or handsome.

You've got a most melodious voice, however. It's a good change of pace from the gloomy chattering of the townspeople here.

You and Crow both have soothing voices, now that I think about it. How delightful...

Who is Crow? The bartender, of course. How funny that their name matches the name of the bar, right? I don't think it's something they much like to share, so maybe don't go around spreading it.

Who knows what dark and shady pasts those sorts of types have. Certainly not my business to know. Maybe, in a way, that's what drew me to my work. I'm confident you're already aware what I do. If Crow didn't mention it to you, I'm sure the attire gives a pretty reasonable message.

[Sigh]

Hard to lead many funerals these days. People aren't dying, and it's hard to establish things when you can't see. I've an assistant now whom I hope takes over for me soon. I suppose that is a good thing...

I'm not sure if grieving is the right term to use, ironically. I enjoy what I do, or...did. Watching people celebrate the achievements of one's life is highly rewarding, both for the people that you deeply know and love, and people you do not know. It feels like a little, happy glimpse into their soul.

Like I mentioned, dark and shady pasts are not in my trade. Sometimes things are better left buried. I think that might also be why I like the profession ever so...

But now I can ensure neither of these things. No longer can I watch as people celebrate the best of a person...or how some will look their best.

You're the writer, aren't you? So you've dealt with these sorts of moral dramas in the past, I presume. How does it feel to watch one in front of your very eyes? Am I wrong to miss the work I undertook?

On second thought, that is a very heavy-handed way to introduce myself. I am Doctor Morgan Abrams. Most people will just call me Doc. Or Abrams. Or Doc Abrams. Call me whatever you wish. It makes no difference to me.

I've been living in Decay for about forty years or so. Probably one of the longest residents still here. Moved out here to take care of my grandparents once their health started to decline. By the time they had died, there was no one able to bury them. So, at the ripe old age of 24, I set out to take care of all the funerals here.

I guess the people liked it, because until recently, I still find myself doing the proceedings.

The doctor part? Well...I did leave for a few years to finish it up. I don't think they make them like I have anymore. It was for professional studies...which I applied to end-of-life care, funerals, and cremation. Very customized degree, very niche application. I'm sure you understand.

You don't believe me? I suppose that's understandable. I won't argue the idea any further. I have no use in doing so.

[Sigh]

Your vocal tone has grown a bit bitter. Perhaps this was bound to have happened. Just like those drinks you devour so heartily often [strained chuckle], a little bit sweet at first, but a whole lot kicking underneath. Crow mentioned you have a pension for whatever's in that glass. I'm so certain that you're holding one right now, even if I can't see far enough to tell.

{Pause; silence}

I'm right, aren't I?

Life tends to run predictably.

{Pause}

Do you know why I still am able to walk home, even if I can't see the ground? Because the path is predictable. I know how many steps it will take to get from here to the door, the door to the mailbox, and the mailbox to my abode only 400 paces west.

The path to the door is clear—it has to be, so no one trips when coming into this place. The path to the mailbox is assured: If I'm off course, I can grab the square post to re-adjust. The walk home is as certain as I can count to 400.

People are much the same way, you know. The circumstances of the day to day might vary, but paths well worn by those of the past are usually followed by the souls of the future.

Death. Grieving. Celebrations. Emotions. You come to know them so very well in what I do. The people are different, but their pain is the same. The emotional swells, outbursts, collapses...they've all been done before. You have to learn to read those grooves. Know your client's steps before you even take them.

When everything else begins to fail, you'll be able to rely on those determined outcomes to get ahead...or get by. Mmmm-hm.

Almost every day of my life has been lived the exact same as the one past, and the one past that. I kept things predictable and routine. No alarms, no surprises, and nothing could make me afraid because I knew I could always sink back into that routine when I needed to.

This place is no different. Look around if you would.

Most of the people in here stand, move, and interact in the same way, in the same patterns, every week or every day. That artist by the window has come in here every day at three o'clock on the dot to sit in that exact seat by the window.

The pool tables fill up with the regular crowd. The bar stools get claimed in the same pattern. Hell, I bet ol' Crow doesn't even have to predict the drinks he makes for the people who get here, in order. Talk about consistency.

[Pointedly] Couldn't we even start to say the same about you, our Hemingway impostor?

{Pause}

I like the music here. Good selection. Pretty varied. High quantity of songs. I have enjoyed trying to retain them all with my ears.

[Laugh] Keeps me young and sharp, I'd say! 

There's only so many discs in there. I'm bound to run out of new material within the next two weeks or so, honestly. Then it becomes a matter of developing a new routine. 

Maybe I'll get one of those fancy streaming services I hear people talk about. Lets you pick whatever music you want to hear?

Then again, I think I'd prefer the radio. Less involved, less predictable. Even if they only play the same few hundred songs in practice, maybe having a little variety wouldn't kill me. 

I'm quite fond of the 70s rock era. Perhaps that's not surprising given my age. Hearing those vocal harmonies from people like Boston or 10CC just warms my heart. I feel like they actually had stuff to say with beauty, a little bit.

But I'll listen to anything. I think that's the way these sorts of things should be, right? We all have our preferences, sure, but much like how the people we see come from all walks of life, maybe the art we consume should reflect that.

I've buried a lotta people. Many of them are far different than me, but I still gave each and every one of them the right time of day and focus. Same goes for music genres, or even bands. I may not particularly enjoy Rush, but I can still appreciate why they were successful and left an impact on millions of people.

Just like that radio, I didn't choose who came through that door next. That's for the higher powers above to decide. But I know I should be ready to take it when it comes.

Can you say the same, writer?

END.