The Death of Teddy Smith (standard:Psychological fiction, 1380 words)
Author: Jeff Webster	Added: Mar 10 2004	Views/Reads: 4024/2383	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A teenager attends his friend's funeral visitation and observes the people around him in what has been described as a "shocking" tale of fate, karma, and the inevitable end we all have to face.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

middle of writing my name. I get some angry looks for holding up the 
line, which by now is running out into the parking lot of the fast food 
chain restaurant next door, full with people who are either there 
because they know Teddy's family, or because they want to see why 
everyone's standing around waiting in line. I showed up early and got a 
decent spot. That's because I don't believe in standing in line to see 
a dead person and then be used as a crying pillow by people you 
despise. I quickly replace the pen with one I had accidentally left in 
my pants from school. I didn't bother to finish my name; they wouldn't 
know my name from the ones before it, anyway. 

They've been standing in line to see this guy all their lives, you would
think they might have mastered it by now. 

Another familiar face-- Charles Thompson. He got Teddy Smith his booze
before Ted could get it himself. Charles works for a construction 
company. His job is basically to estimate how much of every material 
the builders will need to finish the house. He's wrong most of the 
time. It's his job to be wrong. You see, when he underestimates the 
materials, then the builders have to go out and buy the deficit with 
company money, minus corporate discount. The local corporate-owned 
hardware store therefore turns a profit of considerable size, which 
eventually goes to the business that owns the hardware store, and then 
the business pays Charles under the table for his trouble. Everyone 
knows this goes on, but nobody wants to be the bad guy, so nothing is 
ever done. He eventually commits suicide rather than face the charges 
and humiliation that inevitably tag along with fraud and insider 
trading. 

I turn to walk out of the funeral home when I accidentally bump into
Teddy's brother, Brad. We make eye contact, and for a second, I can see 
the strength of one hundred men in his eyes, holding back the tears and 
the grief. 

He's not grieving over his brother. 

Before the big ending, I must digress into a small note about Brad. 

If you were to sum up Brad Smith's life into a novel, it would be one of
those books everyone hates except old people who think they know about 
literature and art, as well as those people who decide what books are 
"literary" and what books are merely "fiction." It would be very dull, 
very tiresome, and most of all, very anticlimactic. Rather ironically, 
though, it would be a bestseller. 

To put it simply, Brad was nobody until his junior year in high school.
I had the pleasure of knowing him for longer than that, but everyone 
would swear he became a new person in the eleventh grade. The truth is, 
he had always been the same person. His sudden rise to popularity can 
be accurately attributed to his relationship with a girl, or rather, 
the coincidence that when it ended, he did it in front of thirty people 
who saw him everyday. Now, instead of being a loner, the kid gets 
swamped by people constantly, and receives a standing ovation or its 
equivalent for pretty much anything he does. After a couple seconds of 
just looking at each other in the eyes and understanding each other, we 
turn and continue going our separate ways. 

I finally get myself to the door. I grab a couple breaths of fresh air
along with several confused glances from those waiting in line. I look 
up, and as it turns out, the line has expanded further into the 
distance, to the point where it crests over the horizon. I can see a 
flock of birds flying in perfect formation. I come to terms with all I 
have witnessed today, and I begin to take a step outside. 

"Excuse me." 

I turn around to see the funeral home is empty, save for a small child. 

"You're not going to leave, are you?" 

The sky darkens, and the line dissipates. The kid had a point.


Tweet