We walked side-by-side silently along the beach with the urn hugged tightly against my chest as I occasionally shot a glance at him. He did the same and deep down, I could tell he’s guilty. After all, he’d betrayed me, gone against my order to stay, and worst of all, he had lost my trust.
I stopped walking, he did the same. I stood facing the water for a moment, allowing the water to rush back and forth wetting my ankles. I used to enjoy this but now, I could feel nothing but the iciness of the water. I undid the lid of the urn and lifted it over my head, allowing the wind to carry his ashes away. “Be free,” I said and watched the ashes form a trail in the air.
Some time later, after I screwed the lid onto the urn, I turned and walked toward the parking lot. As I walked pass him, he grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve already apologized,” I said icily. “Besides, it’s just…”
“Stop saying ‘It’s just the circle of life!” He shouted. “It’s not, okay. This,” he ran his hands down his body, “is not normal. I am not normal.” He exhaled sharply. “I think we need some time apart.” He turned and ran in the opposite direction.
This is a response for Roger Shipp’s new flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. We are given the beginning of the sentence and we are to finish the story.