The funeral

I remember getting ready for the funeral. In front of my tall bedroom mirror, I was asking myself whether the blouse I was wearing was too tight. Being slim with E cups breasts wasn’t easy in this situation. I felt like the tightness of the cloth was making my boobs look even bigger. Or maybe it was just the thickness or my bra that was too obvious through the fabric? I took everything off and started looking for another, thinner bra. Maybe a sports one would help.

I had learned about Walter’s by receiving the announcement card for the funeral. I hadn’t heard about him for more than a year, when he had lost the appeal to his trial. We’d been working in the same company for five years, and all of his problems came up a few months after I had quit the job.

Somehow, an inspector for the Finance had found figures that didn’t match with the deliveries that had been made. Some figures were even plainly made up with fake clients. The last person logged in those files was Walter. He did not go to prison, but the fines that he got were large enough to make him bankrupt. Apparently, his situation had not improved, leading him to take his own life by jumping from a bridge onto the highway.

I had to go to the funeral: how would it look if I didn’t?

I heard a honk and my phone started buzzing. My cab! Fuck! I was never on time anywhere I went, but I was determined to be punctual at this funeral. So much that I had ordered a cab 20 minutes earlier than needed, which took me off guard.