1

It was early morning, the sky was a dull grey, the air was thick in smog and the birds weary in their early morning chores. Trendhill's Gate, where all the dead come in to be stoned, was witness to a small gathering in those early hours. It's decade-old undertaker, Mr Gatr, was in his early morning stupor, his hands feebly clinging on to a bottle of old California Wine, an E & J Gallo. He was seated next to his young accomplish, the sprightly teenager Miral who was often blasted by the undertaker for being a touch too curious about life when his work dealt mostly with death... And just as these two were out on the yard, feeling about the earth with their feet(soft and warm from last night's sleep), they were stalled in their tracks by the earliest group of mourners. Mr Gatr groaned. He hadn't been out to feed his dog yet, he hadn't yet lifted his eyes up at the sun, and there they were, those bloody beings who've got nothing better to do but mourn for what's gone and never coming back. Over the years, Gatr had compelled himself, internally, to not flinch at the sight of the dead bodies. While the mourners allways irritated him, their noise was annulled by the silence of the dead in front of him. Early on in his career, what had haunted him most was that some people would die with their eyes open. Which meant that even in death, they seemed to be eerily staring back at him, that cold lifeless stare a dreadful sight that filled him up with inexplicable guilt.



And yet, he had moulded himself, almost carved himself into that role that he had chosen, and after all these years, Nixem Gatr was Trendhill's sole burier of souls, he was the one who had the last glimpse of the rotten corpses before they were burried beneath.



Thankfully for him though, the crowd assembled this morning was a small one. A dozen people, about a couple sobbing shamelessly into their handkerchiefs, and there were six people who held the body, now covered in white apron, they had it hoisted up above the rest. In a sickening thud, it all came down, and Gatr was suddenly consigned to it again, for there he was, a pale young youth in a bed, a serene white deathbed. Up above him, a giant eagle circled the sky, but Gatr went on unflinched, his eyes fixed on the unmoving earth as he sealed the death in front of him with a reading from John's Bible, that which had been for a thousand years.



In the midst of life, we are in death. Of whom may we seek succor but of thee, o lord, who for our sins are justly displeased.



The deceased was Paul Gregory, Gatr knew him by sight, he was a handsome young youth after all. He had however, been fairly ill-reputed around Trendhill, for he would often wind up in brawls, or take to the road with a town belle. His eyes would shine in a queer tempestuos lust, (Gatr read it as his natural lust for life), and now in front of him, the eyes were gone.



And suddenly, it wasn't a dull morning anymore. As old Gatr turned around him, the morning was dreadfully sad. The eagle up above him was gone, the people were gone, Miral was gone, Paul was gone.