Beautiful Funeral Novels & Stories

"It's only been a day." "I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could've done. How was the funeral?" I make myself ask, curling my hands into fists. Kayla's lifeless eyes re-enter my mind, the emerald gown still slowly soaking up her blood. I'm frustrated, angry and disgusted and hurt all at the same time. Beatrice smiles sadly, a lone tear falling down her cheeks. "There was no funeral. We never got to see her. The Prince... he said... he said they'll be taking care of it."

• Three days later. Funeral. "Dearly beloved, we gather today to celebrate the life of Josephine Barnard, a loving wife, mother, and friend. Though her time with us was all too brief, her impact on our lives will be felt for years to come." As the minister spoke, a faint sob could be heard. The funeral was being held in a traditional cemetery, with a small crowd of mourners gathered around the gravesite. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the soft chirping of birds.

At last, I have longed to be free from such a monster and I've finally grasped it. I stayed and talked to a few more people but everyone just wanted this drama to be over. We wanted him to go to where he belonged so we started heading to the cemetery. His funeral was as dry as those crusty dried-up lips he had when he was alive, no one but the dramatic Jason brought him flowers which made me remember that we forgot to bring red roses. Although red roses are good for funerals, in my case they wouldn't since it's a joyful color.

He paused his lips, “But that's too far, we just started the week.” I nodded, “Yes, but the tension is too much right now. Think about it – you die and your friend, like family, bakes a cake and makes a parfait to celebrate a weird union immediately after your death like you mean nothing. Would you feel wonderful about it? You’d be angrily dancing Cuban Rumba in your grave, which by the way would be a very small space. That's selfish if you ask me and disrespectful, you need to learn to respect the dead.” “You mean a lot to me…”

It was every bit the typical funeral scene that you would see in movies, rain falling, everyone dressed in black with solemn expressions on their faces and black umbrellas to shield them from the rain, and no one talking except for the priest as he blessed the body and prayed that she be taken into the lord’s bosom, with the occasional sobs from Dominic’s mother, who wore large sunglasses to shield either the tears or her puffy eyes. Eventually, as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, it became too much for me to bear. The tears began to come freely, tears that had been stuck in my throat for a week now. It felt so bittersweet to finally let out those tears, because it was very catha

Then he suddenly spoke again, "Iris, we've been together since childhood. I can count as your brother. Let me walk you down the aisle." This was Adrian's final plea. As we walked down the aisle, I felt dazed as my memories drifted back to the year my mother died. At her funeral, I slipped away while no one was paying attention and ran to her coffin. The coffin was large and high. I wanted to climb up to see my mother one last time, but my legs were short. I could not climb up and could only sit on the floor, crying in frustration. Suddenly, someone tapped my forehead. "Why are you crying?"

Lucian's POV. I stand just behind Talon, the damp scent of freshly turned soil clinging to the air. The funeral is quiet, somber. Every rustle of wind through the trees feels too loud, too alive. I watch as they lower the small, hand-carved coffin into the earth; Morgana’s quiet sobs the only sound that matters. And then —

Tracy’s POV The funeral home smelled like lilies and furniture polish, a combination that would probably haunt me for the rest of my life. I sat in the front row between my uncle Marcus and my cousin Jennifer, staring at two closed caskets covered in white roses. Someone had told me white roses symbolized reverence and purity. I didn’t care what they symbolized. They just looked cold. “Beautiful service,” someone murmured behind me. I’d heard that phrase approximately forty times in the last two hours. Beautiful service. As if there was anything beautiful about burying both your parents at once.

It was a shared space of profound, unspeakable sorrow. He finally spoke, his voice a low, gentle murmur. “The funeral… was a beautiful service.” Isabelle just nodded, her eyes still filled with a silent, profound sorrow. “She would have liked it,” she whispered, the words a raw, broken sound. “It was… simple. Quiet. Like her.”

My father's funeral was stark and simple, just as he had wanted. I moved through the motions and greeted the attendees like a robot, hoping the bustle would dull the ache in my chest. But on this day of all days, Blake Cole, the man who was supposed to be my partner, never showed up. My dad, Alex Holmes, had spent his final years fretting over my happiness. Now I could handle the rest, and he could rest in peace. The attendees whispered to each other, looking at me with pity.