Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, #19: Limit of 175 words, max
The mere act of stepping out of the airport taxi in front of her childhood home was so difficult that the driver came around and opened her door, offering his extended hand.
“You sure this is the right place?” he asked.
“Oh yes, I’m sure.”
Sam grabbed her purse and her shopping bag, and put a twenty into the driver’s hand. “Thank you,” she said quietly as she slipped by him and kept walking.
She skirted a wide circle around the unfenced house and headed directly through a wide expanse of English ivy. Treading slowly down the hill, she sighed to see the grave markers still standing.
“Only for you, Evan. Only for you would I come back here again,” she whispered to the urn, as she removed it from the bag.
Reaching her hands in, she once again danced and ran and sat amongst the stones, letting Evan’s ashes mingle with the air and earth of the only place, he’d said, that his spirit had ever felt free.
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