Word of The Day Challenge: LECTERN

AI Photo By WP

The first funeral service was the last funeral service, held in October of 1926  at a small chapel on Hall’s Lake.

The only service took place at 3:00 in the afternoon and was attended by five people who did not know each other.

Each lone mourner walked up and lightly touched the coffin lid before taking their seat on a dark and dusty pew. Some of the nails used to secure the lid to the body of the rough pine coffin were rusted, and the heads on those nails had snapped off as they were being hammered in.

The mourners did not look at each other, nor did they look at the coffin. They looked at their shoes, and they checked their fingernails. Every once in a while, they took a peek at the person sitting closest to them and then went back to looking down.

When the door creaked open, they did not turn around. It was the minister, and they didn’t have to look at him to know he looked as tired as they felt.

He walked slowly up the aisle and took his place at the lectern.

A woman with a veil stuck with dead insect husks raised her hand. “Excuse me. But exactly how many more times are we going to have to hold a service for her? We’ve been burying her and digging her up and going through this over and over for nearly 100 years. I’m tired of this. So somebody tell me, how many more times will we have to go through this?”

Then a voice—choked with dust and dirt and maybe a mummified mouse came from inside the coffin—said, “Until you get it right. Now, let’s begin again. Shall we?”