You’re a fly on the wall at your own funeral. What are people saying about you?
Great… I’m a fly. It’s just my luck that reincarnation actually exists and I have to attend my own damn funeral as a damn fly.
Presuming that my fly self can actually comprehend human language and not get swatted, I guess I’d hear something like the following:
Incredibly sorrowful griever: “I can’t believe we’re at Goldfish’s funeral. Didn’t she say she didn’t want a funeral?”
Inconsolably sad mourner: “She said she wanted a Norse funeral where you put the dead in a boat at sunset, push them out to sea and then shoot flaming arrows at the boat until the whole thing catches on fire, lyrically lighting up the gathering night sky with the poetic flames of an irreplaceable life lost, thereby sending them peacefully on their way to Valhalla.” *sobs*
Incredibly sorrowful griever: “That sounds AWESOME. Why didn’t we do that?”
Inconsolably sad mourner: “I guess it’s illegal in the state of California. Something about flaming dead bodies and environmental yadda yadda…”
Incredibly sorrowful griever: “That sucks! What a stupid state.”
Inconsolably sad mourner: “Yes, it does and yes, it is. Goldfish would have liked to go to Valhalla. I hope she doesn’t become an evil revenant instead.”
Incredibly sorrowful griever: “Oh, well. So, when do we start the drinking?”
Inconsolably sad mourner: “Oh, we’ve already begun. We’ve been drinking since 9AM. Here, have a flaming cocktail.”
Incredibly sorrowful griever: “Sweet. Cheers, Goldfish!” *clinks glass*
Inconsolably sad mourner: “Too bad the flaming cocktails are as close as we could come to a Norse funeral. They are delicious though.”
Fish Of Gold 