Standing before the congregation, Mr. Speaker smiled and spoke, “Today we mourn the loss the dearly departed. But we must remember, that although his body is dead, he is alive. For we are all going to live forever.”

The audience beamed with the knowingness that filled them as he spoke these words. We’re all going to live forever. A deep sigh of relief.

“For if he were dead, then that would mean you all will someday die too. And that would mean that I would die,” The speaker shook his head in a pantomime fashion so even the people at the back could see. “I’m not going to die,” he said with a little chortle.

The congregation laughed with him, little busts from different areas. What a silly idea dying was.

“For we all live forever. And now, we are going to sing hymn number 109, ‘I’m going to live forever’.”

After the hymn and the burying of the dead, although not as dead as he would appear, member of the congregation. They all made their way to the hall for tea and scones.

“Oh, Mr Speaker,” Mrs. Old Lady said while putting her hand on his shoulder. “I must say, I did like your talk today.”

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Old Lady.”

“I especially liked the part about living forever.”

“Oh wasn’t that good,” said Mr. Balding Man. “I liked that part to. So true, so true.”

“Yes,” said  Mr.  Young Man. “As you were saying it, my heart knew it was true, not my brain, my brain complained, the sneaky brain, but my heart knew it was true.”

“Because we are all going to live forever,” Mrs. Old Lady added.

“Yes,” said Mr. Speaker. Although he had his doubts in the morning, knowing everyone else believed him, assured Mr. Speaker he was right. He had to be right, right? What other option was there? Not death.

Surely not.

11:27pm.

Sitting on an underground train I finish ruffling through the free paper and focus on the driver’s announcement.

“-I want you to know I only meant to scare her,” the calm voice said. “It was never supposed to kill her,”

My ears picked up. How long has he been talking?

“I thought burying her would be hardest but keeping it a secret this long has destroyed me.”

I look on at the dozen other passengers all transfixed on their portable entertainment. The confessional washing over them.

He continues: “I’m sure you’re disgusted by my tale and I do not expect forgiveness. I accepted my place in hell long ago.”

The speakers go silent. Should I be worried? Scared? Ring the police? I feel bad that what I really want is the first part of the story. The gossip.

Our train slows and the speakers crackle back to life.

His final words: “This station is Mill Hill East. All change here.”

The carriage empties as my fellow passengers shuffle onto the platform – unaware of what happened. I guess I’m no different.