Post Mortem Memory

Rain falls to the ground, as the masses weep and cleared their throats.
As the coffin lay bare, the sight of the white figure, draped in cloth pure of white, stings my eyes.
The empty, hollow carcass of a human once filled with life and joy and sorrow, with eyes closed shut, one would think she's asleep.
Lips, which used to move to form words and sentences, shut like the bars of a prison cell, seemed content with it's state.

Looked at her from afar. Even in death, an air of grandeur radiates around her.
I know not of her history, but I can tell it was rich.
The wrinkles and scars tells as much. 
A rich story, one that I would have loved to hear about

I shifted my gaze to the rest of the crowd. Most were mourning. Relatives, perhaps.
Others were grim-faced, as only grim expressions are allowed in a funeral. It is death, after all.
But a few caught my eyes, the ones with the masked expression.
They appeared to be grieving, consoling the honest ones, even. But the glint in their eyes could not be hidden, the look of joy and triumph.

It appears the lady in white has, or should I say, had, a few treasures in her possession, gathered throughout her journeys and adventures.
To say it was only a generous amount would be outrageous, given the reception held.
Ah, no wonder, the masked ones are actually masked vultures. 
Leeches out to get the vulnerable wealth.
With no apparent heir, it's no wonder these hungry beasts are so eager to please.

It amuses me a little, for even a person such as myself,
who barely knew this women, would come to mourn and regret her passing.
While these ingrates are just waiting for the will to be read,
driven by the beast called greed.

As the sky darkens, it made me wonder, what would the dead have felt,
if only they knew that this is how the living are acting?
Would they be sad? Would they be happy? 
Would they even expected this kind of reaction?

It also made me wonder, what if, god-forbids,that I should die tomorrow?
Will there be grievers? Those who would have missed my presence,
those who have loved and be loved by me.
Or will there be those who cheers and laugh? 
The ones who would spit on my grave, happy of my demise.
Or will there be the ones with no emotions? 
The people whose lives I failed to touch, to make my presence known. The indifferent.
The last bit was the worst, in my opinion.
It sent chills throughout my body just thinking about it.

Memories are important. 
They are the proof that you once existed.
Friends, foes, it matters not.
The mistakes you've made, the live you touched, people will remember it.
As humans, we are dependent of these things.
Dependent on acknowledgement, to say that we once lived. 
Only then can living be worthwhile.

As I ponder these thoughts, the clouds begin to part,
revealing the blue sky, with the majestic yellow ball of ray we call the Sun.
Coincidentally, the reception ended at the same time.
I readied myself to leave, as I am not needed for the will recital.

As I make my way to the exit gate, 
I see the vultures, rather hurriedly, making their way to the recital.
I made a silent prayer and gave my final respect in silence and swung the gates to exit myself.
Loud shouts and groans came from the direction of the recital. 
Angry protests could be heard even from here.

With a smirk and a heart full of amusement,
I closed the gate behind to continue this journey we call life.

The End.