Morgann died. His whole family came to his funeral distant cousins, old relatives he hadnapos;t seen since he was a child all came. Morgann was young and had fallen from his horse, ruining his innards on a broken log, completely disemboweling him.
During the funeral mass, Morgann sat up. He was confused, though wide awake. The assembled mourners gasped, though the priest simply cocked his head and looked down from the pulpit.
"Morgann?"
Morgann turned to the father. "Father Ryan, how are you? What goes on here, father?"
"Well, Morgann, youapos;ve died. I think. Are you breathing?"
"...Canapos;t say that I am or am not, I never really notice lest Iapos;m swimming, father."
"Well, for certain I can say youapos;re dead, I helped look at your innards. You lay cold, unbreathing, no pulse, for a full week. Morgann, you are dead, lay down in that box and go back."
"But, father, I do not feel dead. Think this must be all one big joke on me."
Father Ryan sighed. "Morgann, look inside your burial suit, away from the crowd for modesty, look here."
Morgann turned toward the father in his coffin and opened his suit, and found that he had numerous stitches. "Whatapos;s this here, I had surgery?"
"Well, in a sense...look inside." The priest turned away slightly as Morgan pulled at the stitches. His insides, he found, were sawdust.
"Oh. ...Oh my. Father, I do think I am dead."
"Yes, yes Morgann, you are."
"...I got a last blessing?"
"You did."
"...Well, Iapos;m going to lay back down I suppose." He turned to the mass, covering himself again. "Love all of you. Sorry, sorry everybody for making such a scene, go on with the mass. See you all later now."
Morgann lay down, and the funeral continued without incident, aside from attempts to rouse fainted members of the parish.
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