Sea-mist clung stickily to our clothes and hair, as we trailed after Rose to the shoreline.
Once there, our stepmother raised the urn in dramatic fashion and, shrieking “farewell my love,” she cast our father’s ashes to the waves.
My elder brother Ollie sighed exasperatedly. Ben, the youngest, hid behind my coat.
At that very moment a stiff on-shore breeze gusted up, liberally coating Rose from head to foot in grey dust.
“Daddy’s all over Rose,” observed Ben helpfully, as she cavorted about, yelping in revulsion, batting at herself like a madwoman.
“No change there then,” said Ollie, “he’d like that.”
Back in 2011 a longer version of my story was published on-line. A couple of years later I noticed a sharp uptake in stats for the story, and following the incoming links I discovered a firm of Funeral Directors had published a link to it on their website, where it remained gathering hits for many years! Hardly an endorsement for the ashes-scattering afficionados, I would have thought. 🙂 Many thanks to Rochelle for her continued leadership of Friday Fictioneers.