Dead men don’t cry.
After several years of being a widower, with the sad taste of missing his wife everyday, death came calling. The first thought his newly transformed brain could process was the excitement from the prospect of reuniting with his wife. His body was taken to the mortuary as sobs and wail engulfed all related to him. If only they knew the dead man’s delight, perhaps they would have dried their tears and moved on.
The length of time it took for the arrangement of his funeral was about the same time needed to get his visa to the other side validated. He couldn’t wait. He logged on to his Chitchat-for-the-dead profile, a social media network for dead people, and posted countdowns as the days rolled by. And as days rolled by, they rolled down to the ‘d’ day he had been anticipating. His body was laid to rest as his visa got validated.
He rested his head softly on the headrest of the business class seat he had paid for, shut his eyes to create clear pictures of memories of his time with her on earth, he could feel the warmth take over him despite other passengers needing blankets to beat the chilly temperature. The cabin lights were dimmed and the Captain announced take off. He wore a sheepish smile as if to show a step had been taken in achieving the thoughts that first lit his brain as soon as his earthly life was gone.
Flight time later and he was landed in a city no earthly description could match. He quickly left the airport for the Bureau of Statistics and Tracking Dead Mates. After providing the earthly name of his wife, her death date and place of funeral, he was given details of her residence in the city as well as her new name. She no longer went by the name Julie in which he married her with, she now bore Zaya. He smiled in appreciation of the information and dashed into the next train to her district while reciting the name silently in his head as if it were a mantra.
The sun had gone to bed before he reached her place and darkness was running its shift. He stepped into her poorly lit front porch, adjusted his suit and hid the flower he had bought for her behind his back to add up to the element of surprise. His mouth watered from sweet words waiting to be spewed into her ear drum.
Sound of door bell echoed inside, footsteps and movement heard approaching door, knob clicked and door opened; behold she stood as beautiful as the first day he fell in love with her. And beside her, standing hand in hand, was the new man she had fallen in love with. She moved on after her death. Automatically broken, his fingers lost grip of the flower he held behind his back, allowing it to crash on the floor in abandon. His excitement had rapidly turned the opposite but as he tried to summon tears, he realised dead men don’t cry.