Title: The Coffin
Disclaimer: Not mine….none of it is. I cry every night over this fact (hypothetically of course)
A/N: Ok so massive brain wave and I have a new theory that I thought would be a cool story and hey look at that its 11:08 at night. 500 words on the freaking nose!! The ravings of my crazy brain…
The Coffin
Desmond walked into the funeral parlor to a heavy silence. He walked in as quietly was he could trying not to even disturb the slight layer of dust on the floor. It was a very odd place for the funeral, he thought. Southern California, lousy neighborhood, he supposed it had something to do with becoming a complete and utter failure. He tugged at the hem of his suit jacket and strode up to the first row of chairs where he sat down and looked around awkwardly smoothing his hair back over his head.
He wasn't entirely sure why he was here. He certainly wasn't a friend and Desmond had never even contemplated counting him amongst his family. He was just a rather large speed bump on the road in Desmond's life. He certainly hadn't made Desmond's time on the Island a joyous occasion either. Yet here he was. The only person sitting here in this room with him. Desmond crossed his legs and started bouncing his foot. He rested his elbow on the chair next to him and put his head in his hand. He really wanted either someone to come out of the back room and speak to him or someone else to turn up to talk to. He felt very exposed sitting here alone with the body.
If only Penny where there with him. But no, Sayid, his one time friend, had seen that that would be impossible. Thanks to him Penny was already in the situation this man would be in after his burial. Desmond sat up and hardened his face, determined not to cry, not here, not with him. Penny was a different part of his life then the man in the box. Desmond got up and started pacing. Where could everyone be? Surly someone else would come to pay their respects? He was very popular after all. As Desmond made his third agitated rotation about the room the back door swung open and a man stepped out holding a picture frame to his chest.
"Hello." He said solemnly, with a sidelong glance at the coffin, to Desmond, who stopped pacing to look at him. "I am truly sorry for your loss."
"Thank you brother." Desmond said quietly
"Was he a friend, family?"
"Something more along the lines of nemesis." Desmond said curtly. The man looked taken aback but he nodded and placed the picture down against the cedar plank casket. Desmond did not look at it.
"I'll leave you alone." He said shrinking back into the back room. Only once he has head the lock click did Desmond turn and look at the picture. He stood there still as a mountain for a moment before a twisted smile curled across his face.
"I'm glad your dead." He said maliciously slamming the photograph down where it hit the table and fell to the floor. He turned on his heel and left leaving the glassless photo of Charles Widmore to fly away like his spirit already had.