A/N I just came up with this out of boredom.
Disclaimer: I AM THE GHOST OF JOHNATHAN LARSON!! I OWN EVERYTHING!! Just kidding, I own nothing of this, but I wish I own Angel.
"Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes," I said to my bohemian friends after Benny announced that bohemia was dead. Roger and Collins stood up and started chanting something in some language, maybe Latin or something.
"Hear she lies," I leaned back and was carried down the table by my friends. Their hands pulled me down to the end where my closest friends stood. "No one knew her work, the late great daughter of mother earth, on these nights that we celebrate the birth."
It was strange, all them holding me up just inches above the table. And that's when I realized something very disturbing.
ANGELS HAND WAS ON MY ASS!