IT WAS MARK’S FUNERAL, AND THEY PLAYED *OUR* SONG
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IT WAS MARK’S FUNERAL, AND THEY PLAYED *OUR* SONG
I choked on the stale church air as the first notes of “Wonderwall” echoed around the room.
He hated Oasis. Absolutely loathed them. We bonded over mocking them. Remember all those late nights, Sarah, with the cheap wine and your screeching impression of Liam Gallagher? The memory slammed against me, an icy rush.
My skin prickled under my coat; this felt so wrong, so deliberate. I scanned the pews, a sea of black wool and forced solemnity. He wasn’t supposed to die. He was picking me up from the airport at 6 pm that evening, he promised. Last week he even joked: “I’m a workaholic, I can’t die, it’d be too boring.”.
Then I saw her. Sarah. Across the chapel, sobbing, yet…smirking? A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips as she caught my eye. This song…this wasn’t about Mark.
And then the church doors swung open, and Mark walked in.
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IT WAS MARK’S FUNERAL, AND THEY PLAYED *OUR* SONG
I choked on the stale church air as the first notes of “Wonderwall” echoed around the room.
He hated Oasis. Absolutely loathed them. We bonded over mocking them. Remember all those late nights, Sarah, with the cheap wine and your screeching impression of Liam Gallagher? The memory slammed against me, an icy rush.
My skin prickled under my coat; this felt so wrong, so deliberate. I scanned the pews, a sea of black wool and forced solemnity. He wasn’t supposed to die. He was picking me up from the airport at 6 pm that evening, he promised. Last week he even joked: “I’m a workaholic, I can’t die, it’d be too boring.”.
Then I saw her. Sarah. Across the chapel, sobbing, yet…smirking? A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips as she caught my eye. This song…this wasn’t about Mark.
And then the church doors swung open, and Mark walked in.
—
He looked…alive. Bewildered, certainly, but undeniably alive. He blinked, taking in the scene. Confusion clouded his features, morphing into horror as he saw me. “What…what is going on?” he stammered, gesturing at the mourners, the flowers, the ridiculous, offensive song.
Sarah, seemingly snapping out of her performance, dissolved into a fresh wave of tears, this time genuine. She rushed towards Mark, burying her face in his chest. “Oh, Mark! You’re alive!” she wailed dramatically.
I pushed past the stunned congregation, my mind racing. It clicked into place. Sarah. The shared history. The animosity bubbling just beneath the surface, the way she’d always subtly tried to sabotage our relationship. This was her doing. Somehow, some way, she had orchestrated this elaborate…performance.
“Sarah, explain yourself,” I demanded, my voice tight. Mark, still dazed, looked from me to Sarah, back to me, his brow furrowed.
Sarah pulled away from him, her face streaked with tears, and looked at me, her expression hardening. “He was going to leave me, wasn’t he? For you. I couldn’t let that happen.” She glanced at Mark. “I just… wanted to make sure he knew how much I loved him.”
Mark stared at her, then at me. The pieces, it seemed, were finally falling into place for him too. The shock was gradually replaced by a chilling realization.
“You faked my death?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Sarah, seeing the game was up, nodded slowly. “I hired actors, spread rumors…the whole thing. All to test your loyalty, Mark.”
Mark took a step back, reeling. He then took a long, deep breath and, turned to me. He pointed towards the exit. “Let’s go, and leave this theatrical performance and this woman behind us.” We walked out of the chapel and into the bright sunlight. As we did, the first, discordant notes of “Wonderwall” died away, replaced by the faint chirping of birds, and the promise of a future finally free from Sarah’s grasp, and a future that was finally ours.