You wish they could wait. It’s barely three hours since you became unconscious. What’s the rush?
You’re not dead!
“.. Still all my song shall be, Nearer my God to thee…”
You don’t want to be near God. Not yet!
You try to speak, but your lips feel glued shut. You feel as still as ice.
“… In the name of the father, and of the son…,” the priest says
You recognize the voice, it’s Father Simon’s! He had hit you on the head with a stick minutes before your wife raised an alarm about your death.
He shouldn’t officiate during your burial.
But you’re not even dead!
His voice drones on in false grief, while your wife, his mistress, wail in false agony.
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“God be with you till we meet again…"
No!
You hear the thud of your coffin being shut.
You are about to die, truly.
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