kinda disappointed that i’m not already a reclusive beekeeping novelist who lives in a cottage in the french countryside, only interacting with other people when i call my annoyed editor and sell honey+honey-related products to local villagers
i roll up to your door in a convertible wearing a silk sundress and smelling faintly of coconut oil. i’m eating chocolate truffles. “c’est moi, la femme que tu detéstes” i announce, as i steal some flowers from your front yard and drive off in search of a bookstore
• I will never run in your town
• I will never steal your flowers, pluck your weeds, or shake your trees
• I will always stay on your paths
• if we’re doing a trade, I will do/go exactly what was agreed upon and nothing/nowhere else
• after the trade I will always go straight to the train station and go home unless you end the session
• I will never dig up anything buried
• I will always be respectful of your town and its residents
• if I’m following you and I get lost, I will wait for you to come back and direct me again
• I will not pick anything up unless it is part of our trade
• I will never walk through your flowers, and if I do by accident, I will turn around and find another way
• I will not buy anything from Main Street unless I have permission
• your town is yours, and I will never do anything I wouldn’t want done in my own town
I promise to abide by these always, and forever
—Fellow AC mayor
I pretty much grew up in a funeral home and I have so many stories.
Here are a few of them:
One time we had hired a new funeral director, and we ran out of holy water so he ran up to my dad so panicked and asked how we could order some before the funeral that afternoon. My dad told him to “Boil the hell out of it”. We thought he would laugh but he spent the next hour boiling water on the stove.
One time my dad was driving the hearse to a funeral and the council hadn’t dug the plot, like they full on forgot to dig a hole for a funeral. He rang up my mum crying because it was so stressful and mum honestly though him shouting “I lost the plot” was a joke.
My brother and I use to play hide and seek at a graveyard and we almost fell in open plots a few time. We would steal peoples flowers until mum told us the importance of flowers. After that I would pick flowers from the bushes and give them to every grave without them because I felt so bad for them.
When we would go driving we would always keep an eye out for parks with roses so we could come back later and “borrow” the rose petals so we didn’t have to pay for them.
Mum has heard “you raise me up” and “Amazing grace” so many times shes told us if we play them at her funeral she will straight up haunt us.
Discussions about what we wanted at our funerals have been a normal part of our lives since we were tiny. Every year each one of us would give mum and dad a detailed description of our funeral, kind of like a morbid letter to Santa.
So many people died from car accidents and mum and dad discussed funerals all the time I became so phobic of driving I would have a panic attack when ever I got in the front seat.
When I was about 10 I would steal all the fake crosses for coffins and give them to people at school.
When I was 14 I really wanted to be a mortician so mum said I was allowed to come in and help prep a body for a funeral. I went in all gloved up and pulled back the sheet on the body and it was the ACTUAL mortician and he sat up and screamed at me. I died a little inside that day.
In the back room there was a fridge for the workers and it mostly had coke but once it had a can of beer and I sculled it before I knew what it was….I was 11.
Once my brothers and I hid in the coffin display room to scare my parents but they knew about it and shut the lids. Assholes.
When I was 13 i was obsessed with phantom of the opera so I would play music on the organ in the viewing room in the dark, thought I was so edgy.
We have one of the only horse drawn hearses in the country so we were asked to bring it down for a historical reenactment in the oldest cemetery in the town. I got to wizz around an old cemetery on a horse drawn hearse with a top hat on. I made so many goths jealous. Was a good day.
I am so terrified of the idea of ghosts (I don’t believe in them) even though I grew up at a funeral home.
Once this person who thought ghosts were real asked my parents if they had had ghostly experiences and they laughed in her face. She was so offended that people who had spent most of there life around dead people didn’t have any proof ghosts were real.