Funereal #1

I'm starting a new series of articles labelled ``funereal''. It sounds morbid, but really it is one of those ``start with the end goal in sight'' kind of things. Each time an article is tagged with the ``funereal'' tag, it represents my vision of what happens at my funeral at that point in time. Might prove to be an interesting psychological experiment.

Ahem.

There was muted silence all about as the candles flickered in the night time breeze. I lie dead in that coffin out in the centre of the funeral parlour, surrounded by strangers. It's a hush-hush affair; there was no priest nor reverend nor any religious figure officiating the austere setting---I had lived my life with a much stronger belief towards empirical science than religious followings. Of course there would be no one else there that I know; I have broke contact with most of them a long long time ago, once they all started to get married and have children and thus need to care more about their families than some crockety old man who was still clinging on to the old ideals of geekiness.

The grandfather clock chimed and there was a rustling sound as the pallbearers shifted my coffin towards the cremation chamber. The strangers present muttered their own words of farewell to a man they hardly knew as my coffin enters the hop into the chamber itself. Within a few short minutes, I made it into the furnace and was cremated into an urnful of fine white ash.

As per my instructions, they took my urn of ashes and brought it out to sea, commending my remains forever into the ocean, to travel around the world in the ocean currents and to seek knowledge wherever I may be.