27. Feb, 2018

The Last Ride.

A hearse awaits its corpse all shiny and black. Windows highly polished its driver dressed in frock coat and top hat. The coffin is decorated with flowers and cards, loaded onto the hearse all ready to depart.

Then engine starts and the gentlemen get in. Only a short journey to the cemetery for this persons next of kin. As the car winds its way down the narrow road lookers on bow their heads not need to be told. The sign of the cross one man makes. Wiping a tear from his eye after loosing his wife his heart still breaks.

Silence falls in the hearse no radio noise no jokes to be heard. All the way to the cemetery the men sit in silence. The the odd cough and sniffle but nothing more not even a giggle. As the sun beats down onto the wooden coffin the journey is nearly over the family relieved this journey will be stopping.

Into the cemetery gates the hearse slowly drives up the winding paths to the cold grave side. The flowers delicately placed around the grave careful not to disturb others in this place. The coffin is lifted out of its chauffeur carried on shoulders to the final resting place their footsteps much slower. A few short paces and they are there. The journey is now over nothing more to be done. One more souls laid to rest the hearses job is now done.

Peter Abraham.