"Always The Florist, Never The Corpse" (Short Story in Description)

A few years ago, when this was written, it was proposed as a silent movie starring Aubrey Plaza as the lead. I can't think of another actress who would be better suited to portray such a character. Christina Ricci, come to think of it, would be another excellent choice. Those two actresses have the comedic goth goin' on.
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Both the florist and the caterers who only service funerals are hard hit by a healthy lifestyle trend in their community. The florist has made her debt situation known to mourners with tentative plans to shift her business toward the use of artificial flowers, leaving several of them without desire to attend more funerals: not that they particularly care about the quality or realism of the flowers, but that she's depressing them above and beyond what the ceremony is designed to accomplish. The caterers keep to their own affairs rather than consorting with guests. A couple of them conspire to poison the buffet to increase business, with one serving as a lookout.

The florist is witnessed by an early arriving attendee stirring clam dip, preparing to serve herself, because everyone who's anyone craves that creamy fishy flavor when a dead body is in the next room. Being hyper conscious of her militant vegan status, however, she scurries away so as not to be seen eating anything with animal products, but all the mourners see is suspicious behavior. The conspiring caterers exploit that event, opting to poison the dip.

Later, as most of the remaining mourners are arriving, the florist sees the culprit from the catering service doing something with the dip, and her witness is noted by the lookout. Even though the caterers figure that she'll be implicated for the mass poisoning, they also know that she'd pass a polygraph exam in citing them as the responsible parties, so they decide to slip some poison in her drink when she isn't watching.

Before all the poison is able to be poured in the florist's drink as she briefly steps away to use the powder room, the caterer is approached by the funeral director while grieving friends and family are lined up for the viewing. The director is about to ask why so many guests had complained of the dip tasting a bit strange, but before he's able they're both distracted by the first woman in line at the casket collapsing, as do others in line who had the dip, already feeling lightheaded. Those who didn't partake of the clam dip unfortunately find themselves sandwiched between mourners soon to be mourned, but not immediately because one trapped between two others who are either limp or dead is inclined only to feel sorry for oneself.

Normally the buffet would be following the service, but it was discovered over time that many people lost their appetites after the viewing, and the potential of purging a full stomach into the casket seemed trivial since the lid could simply be shut until burial, with vomit bags already handed out to the remaining mourners to spare additional mopping and bio-hazardous waste handling.

No one could agree on a heartfelt and respectful phrase for the vomit bags, so they were left blank. 'Stick man vomiting into casket surrounded by a circle with a line struck through it' was summarily rejected by the management, and the gravedigger / janitor having proposed it is still digging graves but no longer cleaning during business hours for fear of cheekiness.

The florist finishes her drink and later falls unconscious, presumed fully dissociated / 'vibrated away' at the hospital; it's a holistic ER doctor particularly proud of his record of no deaths, widely disputed by colleagues and management alike. At the florist's funeral, she jolts awake in the coffin from so-called Lazarus syndrome, causing all the mourners in line for the viewing to fall over backwards in shock, much like dominoes as before: all of whom also die shortly thereafter as a result of poisoned vegan Tzatziki sauce. Unlike the clam dip, vegan fare is customarily believed to be guilt-free, and it would be culturally insensitive not to sample something with a name that few can pronounce.

No one except the caterers and the florist remain alive in the funeral home, but a male co-worker of the florist arrives late, having at first forgotten to bring the florist's favorite pruning shears for burial. The florist, still groggy, tells the co-worker that the caterers poisoned several people, and most likely her, too.

Both caterers begin to charge the florist's colleague on his right side, not seeing the shears in his left hand. The shears are quickly confiscated because, frankly, the co-worker isn't a formidable guy. He runs outside to get help as the caterer with the shears stands threateningly as if he has the advantage of a pistol. They're so focused on him that they don't bother to notice the various freshly dug graves for their 2 dozen or so recent victims yet to be buried, and they each fall into adjacent plots.

The florists wait several hours to call the police, throwing handfuls of dirt at the short statured caterers' faces as revenge. It's not a crime that could be easily substantiated, but letting the pile of bodies in the funeral home sit idle for so long is obstruction of justice. They're required to perform 6 months of community service decorating funeral homes, with the judge agreeing to let them receive their customary compensation given their ordeal. In light of the judicial mandate, competing florists are forced to step aside and find other contracts, which in turn resolves the protagonist florist's debt woes. The caterers, on the other hand, receive several consecutive life sentences in case they also develop Lazarus syndrome, and work in the kitchen for $1 per month that goes toward restitution for the survivors.

The various survivors would prefer annual checks of 26 cents each and not monthly ones of 2.167 cents rounding down to 2 and expiring after 6 months, but The State has no money and can only redistribute that of others, so the alternative is to retain counsel and sue the indigent caterers to perform prison labor worth $2 per month: the maximum for inmates of their status.

In addition to postage for 1oz or less costing 50 cents, the fuel costs would far surpass 6 months' worth of checks if depositing in person. Some survivors requested direct deposit, but the amount must meet a higher threshold. One especially principled survivor filed suit to stop the checks altogether due to the futility and the bureaucratic costs, but he was successfully countersued for tortuous interference.