The Obituary Reader

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Every day, Agnes Mandley would rise at dawn, pop out to the lavatory, collect the morning paper from outside her door, have a quick sponge bath to tide her over until she could shower later (her flatette did not come with its own bathroom and the working folk from the other flatettes were already lined up at that time of day), eat her toast and marmalade, then settle down with a nice cup of English Breakfast tea. She would open the newspaper, give the headlines a cursory glance, then settle back to read the obituaries.

Her old man (God rest his soul) had told her she was 'a gruesome bird' for enjoying reading about other peoples' deaths. However, he had never understood her very well anyway so his opinion on the matter didn't really count. She definitely did not gain any pleasure reading about deaths. If she did, she would have turned her attention to the front pages of the newspaper which seemed to be full of murders, misadventure and mayhem. She loved reading the obituaries because it reminded her that in this world were people who loved other people and who mourned their passing. To Agnes, this was a truly beautiful thing to behold. It was easy enough to love someone who was alive, not so easy when they were no longer on this mortal plane. Loving them when they were dead inspired the loveliest prose which, although lacking in finesse, made up for its clumsiness in a heartfelt passion that made Agnes sigh.

Agnes was fairly sure her death would never elicit such divine acknowledgement, so she was doubly surprised when she read her own obituary in column three of the second page of today's obituaries. She leaned back in her chair and thought about this for a moment. She certainly didn't feel dead so she gave herself a sharp pinch. It hurt. Quite a bit. She picked up the paper again and reread the words. It clearly said “Agnes Mandley, beloved wife of Joseph Mandley of Croydon. Gone to the angels.” It didn't mention any other names (who loved her that much?) but it gave the address of the church where her funeral was to be held on this very day.

Well, I'm definitely going, thought Agnes. It wouldn't do for me not to attend my own funeral and meet these lovely people who thought well enough of her to publish an obituary. She grabbed her towel and shower bag of soapy goodies then headed out to the bathroom. Those working folk would get a surprise to see her in the bathroom queue.

Inspired by a prompt from Jill Badonsky in The Muse Is IN Writing Club.