The Unholy Trinity: Down Under

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Down under

Her will’s specific. Proper burial or no inheritance. Isaac stares at the coffin being lowered into the grave, a lone mourner. The priest drones on but departs quickly. The pall bearers give him a strange look, uncertain of his request but happy to take his bribe.

Cassandra had been a bitch and an actual witch throughout their loveless marriage. He believed in her wicked power.

She’d cursed him on her deathbed. An oath to dig herself out from the grave and carve out his heart.

However, he’d ensured the coffin was placed upside down. A dreadful fate for Australia…. eventually.

Dinner Date

Dinner for two at the cemetery. I never forget special occasions.

I’d lost her two years ago. She faded away; a bright candle guttering, laughter diminishing. Then she was gone. Emptiness.

I returned to her grave often, birthdays and anniversaries especially; sitting by the gravestone, two meals laid out.

She never joins me.

Eventually I leave, nothing left at the grave side but love and flowers.

It became too much. I took the poison, asking to be buried next to her on Valentine’s day, a picnic meal placed in my coffin.

The invite’s there. It only needs you my love.

Cold Gallery

I take justified pride in my undertaking vocation, never shirking from cadaver restoration. Getting them looking as ‘alive’ as possible. Their loved ones deserve the comfort of seeing the body at its best.

Many relatives comment ‘they look like they’re only sleeping’; a testament to my expertise.

They’re correct in their admiration, and it infuriates me when I take my creations to crematoriums or cemeteries and the world is deprived of my artistry.

I now hang my finer works of art in a private fridge, disposing of an empty coffin.

With a warm coat, I admire my artistry for hours.