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Weekly Contest #347
The organ’s music floated through the church’s sanctuary as Emily walked in, and at first, she thought it was a joke. Its sound teetered between solemn and hopeful, like an early morning hymn, but with no one else batting an eye, she blamed her imagination and approached the satin-lined casket. Henry lay inside on his back in a beige tux, arms crossed at his chest, and his brown hair slicked back with such an obscene coat of product that it parted like prongs of a wide-tooth comb. Only in this moment, Emily thought, it’s good he’s dead. He h...
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