Funeral toll

The passing bell. Anticipation.

Those that always pay attention, vultures, recognise the lonely peal, it’s lagging echo foreboding with dwindling enthusiasm. They wait for the second chime, tasks forgotten. A silent hunger. Self-indulgent, they ready to spin misfortune into spectacle.

Too long the pause.

Disappointment.

Smile.

Move on.

Soon.

Those that feign righteousness anticipated the disruption. They blaze in retrospect, clumping ravens cawing and composing, their lofty perch an illusion embraced with precipitous certainty. Purpose all-consuming they comb the darkness for like-minded validation. Success, of sorts, but near enough to feed resolve. For the good of all they scatter, devout. Their Task? Notify the unenlightened, induce the enquiring, persecute the evident.

Deserved.

Indisputable.

Smile.

Move on.

Inevitable.

The compassionate few offer comfort, then lodge an appeal, hope delivered on gossamer wings to a world preoccupied. Unjust the outcome, retraction still a possibility, they disperse with resolution. Those that pay attention turn, indifferent. Those that feign righteousness rebuke. In desperation, the compassionate few turn their heads skywards to a greater power and receive only platitudes. Undaunted they adhere, principled.

Faith unwavering.

Scales balanced.

Smile.

Move on.

Indisputable.

The death knell. Confirmation.

Those that always pay attention pause, breath bated. A single toll. A fate multiplied? Tantalising. No. Twice and thrice, the thrill ignites, an outcome absolute. Broadcast ended with a resounding echo, they bask in the silence to follow. Tasks forgotten they unite in contradiction, a frothy film of condolence on a sea revelling in the impending spectacle.

Anticipation.

Excitement.

Smile.

Move on.

Soon.

Those that feign righteousness convene in secret, chiselling stone. A success to immortalise, a precedent to be applied to situations developing, no, developed awaiting a finger, primed and barbed. Unity feeds certainty. An ocean of conviction drowns reservation. Yes. Grasp the rope. The final bells a validation.

Deserved.

Indisputable.

Smile.

Move on.

Inevitable.

The compassionate few coalesce in desolation. Silence. Amid a sudden flood of tears, hope surfaces, gasping. With tragedy fuelled resolve, chins raise. Situation calmly assessed they regard the scales, lopsided, and redirect focus. Misfortune transformed into inspiration, they set aside rebuff. One path remains. Laws, strengthened to prevent repeated injustice. Implemented by a righteous few? No. By a quantity to overwhelm, a voice united.

Focus absolute.

Scales audited.

Smile.

Move on.

Unyielding.

The corpse bell. Conclusion.

Those that always pay attention arrive early. Most seats already taken by the compassionate few and their friends, they scatter, singular, eager, entertainment multiplied. A show without admission, curtains drawn, they wait, balancing façade and truth, success varying. While distracted, those that feign righteousness have materialised, shadows, predators, primed. Those that always pay attention freeze, hearts racing, willing insignificance. Relief. Another. Barely concealed zeal is engorged as the bell tolls, never-ending, a pulse misplaced. Expectation surges, electric, unabating. The compassionate few don’t disappoint. They wail and lament. The greater power waits for calm and officiates. A brief tribute. Blah, blah, blah. Avoid the path of sin and embrace canon. In delicious contradiction it continues. Surrender to upheaval, for it heralds brighter, bigger, better. They recite the pontification by wrote. Respect thy neighbours, love thy elders, thou shalt have no other gods before me. Ooops. Hilarity. Too late the retraction. In the end, the outcome is unsatisfactory but expected. The focus of the proceedings is understandably absent. A closing door. The bells recede until the last echo realises the show is done and flees in embarrassment.

Too long the pause.

Disappointment.

Smile.

Move on.

Soon.

Those that feign righteousness sidle in, coating the walls, obligation driven. Indifferent to proceedings they focus. Eyes scanning, the victims penned, they apply the formula, then expand, suspicions fuelled by those that always pay attention becoming temporality invisible. The vote is ocular, and after considering hierarchy, glaringly unanimous. They wait, the bell peeling in confirmation. The compassionate few predictably attempt to circumvent reality, the pointlessness followed by the inevitable beatification. Blah, blah, blah. Words of inspiration follow. The greater power is acknowledged. They fawn and fluff, the verbal misstep a memo only those that feign righteousness can decipher. Here stands the worthy executioner. No. A deluded puppet swayed by strings political. Proceedings ended, the victim long removed, for the good of all they scatter, devout. Their Task? Notify the unenlightened, induce the enquiring, persecute the evident.

Deserved.

Indisputable.

Smile.

Move on.

Inevitable.

The compassionate few, some unfamiliar, unite. Those that always pay attention are predictably eager. The compassionate few strategically force them to disband. A victory all too fleeting. They cringe as those that feign righteousness enfold and cover the exits, their irradiating presence shrinking bravado. The compassionate few regroup, renewed by virtuous gravity. A forum awaits a morality primed, voices swelled by ideal or invitation. A wave of foreboding prickles flesh, but all is dispelled by the tolling of bells. Two-fold. A celebration of what was lost, a drum inspiring legions, load and fire. The aim? Those that always pay attention revel, repugnant, but a macabre bystander is to be pitied. No pity awaits those that feign righteousness, their vehement verse sacrilege, but the compassionate few are not here to judge, merely convict, evidence irrefutable. The greater power? Thus far a disappointment, but standards of probity can be restored if the compassionate few rise as one. Policy defends. Its establishment, birthed of their own indomitable efforts at the behest of the greater power, is ratified. But just in case, the wound still open and weeping, as one they echo their previous disappointment. The greater power waits for calm and officiates. Factual inaccuracies diminish the brief memorialisation. Poised, the compassionate few wait for affirmation. No. Overwhelming disappointment. Familiar Rhetoric delivered. Policy not ignored, but lauded, a functioning illusion. Grinding dust to dust the greater power’s mask slips, a revelation dispelling faith in an instant. The retraction is inane. Ashes mound on ashes as the focus of the proceedings is erased, leaving a hole to be filled laterally. The last bell recedes and with it, courage. Most leave, but one durable compassionate few lifts their chin and for the sake of the absent, makes a final effort.

Those that pay attention turn, indifferent. Those that feign righteousness rebuke. The lone compassionate few turns their head towards the coffee station to appeal to a greater power and receives only lukewarm tea and familiar platitudes. “And your name is?”

Integrity dispelled.

Scales repurposed.

Forced smile.

Move on.

Bills to pay.