When your beloved wife of family dies and passes away you feel sad, which is what this Old old-man1Man felt. The Old Man and his wrinkly wife were a simple loving couple. Married for many years already, they had grown so close that the thought of leaving was unbearable. But sometimes you just have to let go. The couple had gone to the market. There was terrible traffic that day and little did they know that they would never reach the market in time to live. The extremely swift cars turned around the corner and flew forward just as the red light appeared. old-man2The tyres screeched to a halt but the damage had been done; the old lady was injured badly. She was rushed to the hospital but her breathing had stopped short.

The old man watched in horrific pain as his spouse was carried away hastily on a stretcher. old man.pngHis ageing wrinkles and aches and pains were nothing compared to the sorrow and depression he now experienced. “We will meet soon, Georgia.” He hoarsely whispered as his voice trailed away to make way for tears streaming down his face like waterfalls. The next few days was spent morning and knitting to keep him busy enough to forget the pain. Finally, Georgia’s loved ashes arrived. It arrived in a copper vase. In an orange copper vase, elaborately decorated with chirpy sunflowers. “If Georgia were here, I’d be chirpy.” Wished the Old Man, wistfully. As he urnhobbled to the beach to disperse her ashes, his grey hair whipped up behind him.

Stormy clouds bounced up in the gloomy sky, greeting the old man sympathetically. “Go home!” They seem to warn and whisper. “Please,” the old man bag for some help from the Gods. The copper vase was trembling in the Old Man’s frail hands. The heavy winds scooped them up and scattered them along the coast line, merging with the mushy, soft sand. As if on cue, waves started to crash and take in the woman’s ashes. All crumpled and powdery.

“I will never wash this sleeve. Ever!” The old man decided. How could he? All that was left of his dearest, most beloved lady was that. He could never let her go. Not ever. Not in a century. The bells would ring, the flowers would die. But the ash would remain on the on the Old Man’s sleeve.