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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1063178-My-Uncle-Igor
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by Dave
Rated: 18+ · Book · Writing · #1236257
A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination.
#1063178 added January 30, 2024 at 10:18am
Restrictions: None
My Uncle Igor
My uncle Igor spent his days transporting clients from hospitals and hospice homes to the Serenity Funeral Home for processing.

There, with that black patch over his right eye, he kept shifting his head at odd angles to get the proper shade, as he applied rouge on the cheeks in an attempt to restore some semblance of vitality to each of those cadavers. He tied his long gray hair back in a ponytail to keep it from obstructing his already limited view.

Sweet Melissa Simpson, only eighteen years old, presented a particularly difficult circumstance, due to the damage done in that automobile accident. (When will people come to understand the importance of buckling seat belts?) However, Igor met the challenge head on. Applying techniques developed over the years, he primped, prodded, and poked her carcass in preparation for her final visitation. The stench of chemicals required to clean the remains did not bother him at all. By the time he finished, the young woman appeared ready to wake up from her nap and attend her senior prom in that lavender gown.

After his day among the dead, he would stop off at the Frankendale Florist Shop to pick up some flowers for the resting places of former clients. Moonflowers for his beloved wife Auntie Esmeralda. Roses for the more traditional bunch. Old man McAlister preferred geraniums, because that was what his wife planted in their garden. Of course, she was another of Igor's clients. While delivering those tributes, his rich baritone voice rolled across the cemetery grounds and invaded the dreams of residents in surrounding neighborhoods, as he serenaded those who have moved on to a higher place.

Last Friday, Uncle Igor made one last trip to the Serenity Funeral Home after his daughter found him unresponsive in his bed. Applying techniques he had taught her over the years, his young assistant Dorothea primped, prodded, and poked his carcass in preparation for his final visitation.

Would you be available to serenade him in his crypt? My truck driving travels will keep me away, and his daughter's night nurse job at St. Francis Hospital will prevent her from doing so.


359 words


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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1063178-My-Uncle-Igor