Funeral Accusations

My girlfriend, Autumn Reyes, died of stomach cancer. Stomach cancer.

The day of her funeral was overcast, the kind of bone-deep gray that just seeps into you. Her best friend, Mariah Evans, absolutely lost it the second she spotted me. She stormed up, face twisted in pure rage, her voice slicing across the cemetery like a chainsaw:

"Chase Whitaker, you piece of shit!"

Her words tore through the silence. She didn't hold back, not for a second. "You were still obsessed with your old flame while dating her, didn’t even know she was sick! How much pain did Autumn have to go through before she died, huh?"

Before I could react, Mariah hurled a cup of water in my face. Then—bam—she smashed an ashtray over my head. The sharp crack of glass, the sudden metallic tang in my mouth, and everything just froze.

I didn’t flinch. Just stood there, feeling the sting, blood streaming down my forehead, soaking my black suit—a twisted kind of badge. I could hear the gasps, the shuffling, see some folks looking away while others stared, hungry for more.

Every local news crew had their high-def cameras trained on me. No flashes—just relentless lenses and mics shoved in my face, like I was a criminal on parade.

"They say Miss Reyes died because Mr. Whitaker ran off to care for his old high school sweetheart, broke her heart, made her cancer worse. So, Mr. Whitaker, you killed her!"

Another reporter piped up, voice thick with contempt. "Mr. Whitaker? More like a stray dog! Family bankrupt, still screwing around, killed his girlfriend!"

"Scum, not fit to stand here!"

"Looks decent, but he’s trash. Wait till he gets blackballed in the industry!"

The insults kept coming, each one heavier than the last. People I’d known for years, strangers too, all throwing stones—no mercy, no grace.

But if they could see what I saw, they’d know Autumn’s soul was right beside me. She looked almost bored, arms crossed, eyes rolling like she was watching reruns.

SYSTEM: Look how shameless he is. When I was alive, he only treated me as a stand-in—a placeholder for his first love—forcing me to play the tragic heroine!

AUTUMN (thought): Host, based on experience, now he’ll start recalling all the good you did for him, spiral into madness, self-destruct, take revenge on everyone who wronged you, and then die for you!

AUTUMN (thought): Great, I chased him so hard I lost my life, now it’s time to really torture him!

SYSTEM: Right, as long as he dies for you, the mission is complete, and we won’t get erased.

One girl and one system, circling me like they’d just won the Super Bowl, smug as hell.

My eyes slid right through Autumn’s ghost and landed on her tombstone. The granite was cold, her name freshly carved. I let out a laugh, half-crazy, half-done with all of it.

"Didn’t care when I was alive, now you want to act head over heels after I’m gone. Late affection’s worth less than dirt. Idiot."