|After the Funeral (standard:drama, 7092 words)|
|Author: Vincent Luhar||Added: Feb 01 2017||Views/Reads: 567/352||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Two men after crashing their plane in the Himalayas try to stay alive while they await rescue or capture by the Pakistani authorities.|
After the Funeral By Vincent Luhar ‘Should we say something?' said Irfan. Two men stood next to a snowy mound. Scott who was still breathing heavily after digging the hole didn't answer. Irfan moved over and placed his hand on his shoulder. ‘Scott?' ‘Do I look like a fucking minister? It was a waste of time and energy burying him.' ‘He deserved a proper burial. His soul will never get peace in the afterlife otherwise,' snapped Irfan. ‘Proper burial my arse,' snorted Scott, ‘and besides who's going to know anyway?' Scott spread his arms out in a wide arc. He stared at Irfan. ‘We should have left him where he fell, stupid bastard.' Scott shook his head and started walking back to the icy cave. ‘It's not how we do things, in my religion. A man deserves a good resting place after he's dead,' said Irfan, not budging from the mound. Scott stopped and looked around. The view was postcard perfect, snow laden mountains rose high as far as the eye could see. To the east was a valley with a handful of trees holding onto a few sparse leaves. ‘Well he hasn't done too badly has he? He's got the best view of the Himalayas. Most people would die for it,' he said and spat on the snow. ‘Come on, the cold is seeping through my gloves.' But Irfan remained unmoved and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well I'm going to say a few words.' ‘Keep it short, I'm freezing.' Scott stayed where he was and stamped his feet to get the circulation going. Fresh snow began falling on the grave. Irfan got down to his knees and placed his hand on the mound. Now that he was down here nothing came to his mind. He didn't look up, not wanting to see the sullen look on Scott's face. He sighed inwardly and finally whispered, ‘may Allah keep you safe my friend.' It sounded pathetic even to him. Why was he making such a big deal about it? He stood up after a few suitable moments of silence and finally looked up but Scott was already stomping towards the cave. The icy wind caused tears to stream down his face as he watched him disappear in the distance. Irfan plunged his hands in his coat pockets and followed after him. The cave was partially hidden in the face of the mountainside. A piece of flimsy parachute canvas covered the entrance. It was flapping wildly against the wind. Scott pushed the canvas aside and entered. He held it open for Irfan who arrived a few minutes later. ‘Thanks,' said Irfan. He placed a stone onto the canvas holding it in place. They made their way to a small fire and sat opposite each other. Neither men, it seemed had anything more to say. ‘Fires getting low,' said Scott. Irfan reached behind him and picked up a handful of withered sticks. He threw them onto the fire. ‘We're gonna need more, probably,' said Scott without looking up. Irfan shrugged. ‘I'll get some before the blizzard hits us.' He grabbed the axe and reluctantly forced himself back outside into the cold. The snow was falling more heavily now with the wind blowing it right into his face, hard. Irfan screwed up his eyes and looked around. He could hardly see beyond a few feet in front of him. He took out a length of rope from his parka coat pocket and tied one end to his belt and the other to a stone near the cave entrance. Click here to read the rest of this story (886 more lines)
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