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About This Author
 Kiya is a young woman with many interests. She's got a degree in Computer Science and Registered Nursing.
She's an avid reader and considers Stephen King one of her favorite authors.
She's also been known to pen one or two stories here and there, and as a proud moderator of Writing.Com, she invites you to check out her portfolio (and even better, to sign up today!).
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Daily Flash Fiction Entries #430155 added June 1, 2006 at 4:51pm
Restrictions: None
Father, Dear Father
Prompt: Write a story with the words, funeral urn, postage stamps and gray sweatpants within.
Honorable Mention for 04/12/06
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There she goes again, sobbing and wailing while holding that horrendous looking funeral urn against her hefty bosom.
“Oh why?! Oh why did you have to leave me Richard?!”
Yes indeed. Why did you have to leave this old hag behind? I’m sure there was room for one more on that flight. You would have been wonderful companions in the afterlife.
She honks quite loudly on her lace white handkerchief. I give a glance and manage a weak smile, but for my efforts, I receive a wintry glare.
“I can’t believe its taken you almost two weeks to get that done,” she finally says, with a huff and a puff reminiscent of a steam engine.
I shrug and lick several more postage stamps for the thank-you notes, hoping they get lost en route to their various destinations. It had been a terrible funeral anyway and although many of them had been courteous, you could tell they wished they were anywhere but there.
“Your father was such a wonderful man!”
No, he wasn’t. I wipe my damp palms upon my gray sweatpants and try hard not to scream. Trying not to remember the days when he would take me up to his room for very 'special' lessons, trying not to remember the many nights I cried to sleep when she’d never listen to me.
Your daddy loved you!
Of course he did. In his own unique way. But you were too blind to notice these scars I’ll carry until my dying day, mother.
“Oh, Richard! I’ll keep you by my side forever.”
Not if I can help it. For tonight when you finally fall asleep, I’ll find him a very special place in the garden. Perhaps beneath your precious orange tree where father would no doubt provide the nourishment it needs.
Word Count: 300
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