Nothing stays the same

Chapter twenty two

Funerals, people always thought they were special in a highly depressing manner, especially when it rained, heavily upon heavily—this wasn't a depressing funeral, but a rather joyous one.
A vile spawn has been axed, quite literally by a person, she was wronged about ten-fifteen years ago, how ironic indeed.
Zheng Peng wasn't holding the funeral, of course, can't be bothered weeping over a bitch, did the shameful crimes, and didn't deserve pity or a mere slice of grace pie as well.
"She's your sister." A despotic voice spoke, "Your not even shedding a tear? Do you know how long she was looking for you?"
Does she have any idea how blood was spilled upon her hands, Macbeth was a simple gentleman in her chaos, and Demons were better off staying in Hell, than bearing arms.
"So." Zheng Peng remarked, "Woe is to you, but not myself, miss Jane."
Jane Augustine, a rather lavish woman, was wearing black morning clothes with a black umbrella, wiping her tears with a pink silk handkerchief. While slightly clenched her teeth, hearing a rather grim sound afterward, as someone was heavily wallowing over the coffin.
"Second one who's died in that apartment." Ling Sung Jiao muttered, "Mrs.H didn't seem so concerned about the matter, did you think she has anything to do with the matter?"
As mysterious as Mrs.H was, one can be assured, she would never deter the shame of eating the organs of the victims, how highly disgusting and wretched it would be, especially not knowing what Vile thing rubbles in the Organs of Zheng Ping.
"Likely the flesh-eating monster." Zheng Peng replied, "Don't worry about it, Charlie doesn't seem to have gone missing yet—then I would start to become concerned."
"Perhaps if I'm not entirely mistaken, but are you making jokes, at a funeral? Is this some coping method of grieving?" Jane Augustine inquired.
Coping method of grieving?—ah, classic denier, she must know nothing, literally nothing...how annoying, and utterly entertaining, indeed.
"Peng Peng isn't grieving." Ling Sung Jiao remarked, "He's just being himself, a slightly indifferent manipulative arse."
She seemed rather easing eyebrows, as upon hearing the current statement but much like people who are unaware of proper people and idiots, they subjectively re-call themselves to something called Selective hearing.
"You can't say something like that." Jane Augustine explained, "He's your friend correct?"
Zheng Peng's definition of friends and NORMAL people friends are quite contrary and are nothing alike, like the clear expectation of blueberries but instead up dead from Nightshade.
"I'm his mate, he doesn't care." Ling Sung Jiao explained, "You should see what he writes about me in his writing."
It became rather quiet, not typically quiet but ghost-quite, the only thing that broke the thick ice frost, was the rattling steps, of the pastor entering the room.
"In accordance, by the recent dead. A will shall be read out." The pastor spoke, "Let's get this over, I have a drinking session at the bar at 3 today."
A will was opened from a dusty briefcase, and the Pastor placed upon his older gentlemen spectacles as he coughed, before reading.
"In my entire body, Mind, and soul, I, Zheng Ping, am likely dead of illness or passed away in sleep. In any case, I will leave my whole estate to Jane Augustine, my lovely companion who has been aiding me for over ten years. In dire straits, I would also ask her to take the watch of my youngest brother, Zheng Peng. As anything else shall be settled naturally."
The pastor left the room, and for the first time, someone could see Zheng Peng lighting a cig, as the smoke withered, here and there.
"Peng Peng." Ling Sung Jiao remarked, "You haven't smoked since the day you met Doc."
"How can I not? I have to deal with her ass." Zheng Peng muttered, "Doc is considered something I can handle, not peppy cheery idiots."
The bumbling bloke grabbed a cig, lighted one himself, and puffed it, "Peng Peng, I suppose, we could always rid of her."
His words, the bumbling blokes sounded rather gentle and a mere suggestion, but in truth—that sounded more serious, than anything else, but cold at the same time.
"We can't, you can't." Zheng Peng sighed, "How troublesome would it be to deal with the blood afterwards."