Tonight, I’m going to my party with my rules. You could say it’s my funeral as I’ve left explicit instructions that there won’t be any kind of service once I’ve gone. If anyone feels the need to do something in memory of how fantastic I am, then they can donate to a dog charity.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, immediately slumping with defeat at the sight of my smooth bald head and emaciated body. I badly want to turn up looking the way I am right now because I have never given much care to my appearance. But, I made a promise to myself to dress up and enjoy this last party I’ll ever attend.
I guess you could also class it as a surprise party. I only have a few weeks left to live and no one knows I’ve been sick. I couldn’t be bothered with the fuss and until now I’ve been getting treatment. So, I didn’t feel like chatting about tubes in my body giving me life-saving fluid, the grim reality that I couldn’t be matched with a bone marrow donor or the unspoken questions of what it feels like to know I’m dying.
Surprise!
Fitting a long black wig to my scalp instantly transforms how I look. It’s beautiful. So beautiful it doesn’t match the rest of me or how I feel inside. The pale hollow face, the scars and bruising covering my body, the air of death surrounding me. Grabbing the scissors, I cut large chunks of the hair, watching it fall to the floor, overcome with a release, like I’m exorcising its beauty until I’m left with an uneven bob and a squint fringe.
I feel very Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction.
Collating my guest list was fun and maybe a little harsh. No invites to the professional party and funeral-goers. Some family members were struck off as I never really liked them and there are a few friends invited but not their other half’s. Only good people, the ones I will not only miss but the ones that have been loyal, trustworthy and who I truly love. Yes, that will probably be a surprise for them too.
I’m feeling inspired now, why should I try to look conventional? I promised myself fun, right? With no facial hair, makeup should be important which means bright red lipstick, I smudge it on. I can’t use false eyelashes as they need some lash to stick to, so I draw thick eyeliner on, winging it out at the edge like Cleopatra. And I leave my eyebrows bare.
Just like Lisbeth in The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo.
Rules for tonight include champagne but no drunken behaviour or crying or soppy chat, just raw honest conversations and not only with me but with each other. I want everyone to pretend it’s their last night on this planet, to feel free to confess and express themselves in a way they never have before. I want them to really think about the life they have left and how they will live it. I’m trying to gift them with something so special when they hear me make my speech. My life is complete, I have no regrets and I’m not sad or scared to die.
Last touches before I leave are the red billowing bridal dress I bought and hacked some length off. And I decide to wear it with a sleek black leather jacket and my distressed biker boots to complete my look of modern punk rock, I think?
I like it.
I never got engaged or married, I never had children or celebrated any birthdays so this will be my one and only party. I know it’s controversial having my funeral before I die but I have the unique opportunity to be there and I’m taking it. The undertakers nearly choked when I made the arrangements, asking if I had lost my mind. Then I pointed out I would be paying thousands of pounds for a cremation and service with the best food, so I damn well wanted to be there.
Except I can’t eat, not with the alien tubing in my chest for my liquid food, and I can’t drink with the medications I’m taking, and I won’t be able to dance or move around much as I’m so tired… I’ll enjoy watching my loved ones though and letting them know how much they mean to me.
This short story was part of my English Literature and Creative Writing BA degree coursework. I was awarded a 2:1 in 2023. I am now studying for an MA in Creative Writing. I think the stories should be read, rather than collecting dust in my Mac. So, for fun, I’ve posted them in their original form, unedited and imperfect. Please feel free to share your thoughts below.
Oh, and some are autobiographical, can you guess which ones?
Carolyne
