"Lying in State" A short, short, short story

Lying in State

Royal Helmann Dorset III was lying in state at Colbin's Funeral Home. He was dressed in his perfectly pressed navy wool suit, a crisp white dress shirt, his favorite maroon silk tie, the one with the subtle black hash marks. In his hands was placed a small, new bible and around his neck, resting on his favorite tie was a gold crucifix. Jack Colbin had done a nice job with Roy, his final resting pose was dignified. His face had the same expression in death as it did in life, it didn't look dead.

It was quiet at Colbin's, but it was always quiet. In two hours a hushed gathering of mourners would stand in small huddles, murmur and whisper among themselves about how good with was that Roy didn't suffer. They would solemnly shake Luella's hand and tell her they were sorry for her loss. The wake of Royal H. Dorset III would last about 3 hours as per his desire. And according to his final wishes, all mourners would have to file past his open casket (it was their choice to pause or kneel) to pay respects to the widow Luella Jeanne Hastings Dorset.

The weight of the silence in Corbin's seemed to press in on the windows and doors, if any living thing was in the building at the time, he or she may have said the atmosphere grew heavy but there was no one save the corpse of good old Roy. Suddenly the air was shattered with a blinding flash of light accompanied by a booming thunderclap. The deathly silence was destroyed by a blaring fire alarm. A supercell storm broke directly over Cobin's Funeral Home. Lightening struck the chimney and the a hole in the roof smoldered while bits of burning wood, shingles and brick pelted the green manicured lawn.

The fire department responded within 5 minutes and Jack Colbin was there within ten. Thankfully the lightening strike didn't cause the whole building to blow up. The damage was limited to the chimney, a small area of the roof and to the main room with the fireplace. Ash and cinders had blown down into the room, coating everything in a layer of gray dust. Some of the cinders scattered about the fireplace and made small burns where they landed. The very unfortunate thing about this was that was where the corpse of Royal H. Dorset lay, per his parting desire. Damage to the room was superficial, a good cleaning crew would have the room ready for the wake that afternoon, but the body, there was no quick fix to that.

Roy lay in his open casket, his skin singed and peppered. Somehow the blast had retracted his lips from his teeth and caused his hands, which had been so comfortably clasping the small bible to pull back and up toward his chest. His head, which rested on the soft white pillow had raised up several inches and his peacefully glued-shut eyes were wide open. It looked like good old Roy had gotten a hard glimpse at his future. Jack Colbin could have, with time and hard work, repositioned Roy to his more comfortable repose but there was nothing he could do about the skin or lack of lips and eyelids. As it was, all Jack could do was slam the lid of the casket closed and inform the widow Dorset that it would be impossible to fulfill her departed husband's wishes for an open casket.

Not one single mourner present at the wake (which took place one hour late due to the unexpected weather) was disappointed with the closed casket of Royal Helmann Dorset. No one wanted one last look at that smug face.