well.. Um.. Heres my story.. I just edited..
The water was dripping, she didn’t even have a chance to turn off the faucet. Saundra May Jones died, right before turning off the tap.
One potted rose, underneath the drips, was having its roots slowly washed clean of dirt. Saundra may was slumped over the sink. Her eyelids mostly closed, a little color still left in her lined cheeks, a trace of a smile behind wrinkled lips.
The first thing saundra may noticed after dyeing was the warmth of it all. Not hot. She hadn’t gone to hell. Just warmth. She then noticed that she had died.
She saw her body.
Saundra may wasn’t surprised. She was 86 years old. She had been expecting this for quite some time, and was curious about what would happen after it. Honestly this wasn’t what she expected.
Her only regret was that she hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to her granddaughter Serina. Her son had distanced himself with her over the last twenty years, and her husband, Ivan, was dead long ago. Dear old Ivan, she thought fondly. After all these years she still loved him. Maybe now that she was dead, they could be together.
Saundra May hobbled upstairs. A sad country tune played a mournful serenade off the radio, still on. She felt the urge to play along. Her violin was encased in a curtain of cobwebs, dusty strings of her past were brushed aside by her slightly transparent hand. She pried open the case, and pulled out her violin and bow. A translucent cpoy resided in her hand, and the real one lay nestled in it's case. Her Violen was a ghost too.
She wondered how long she had to be a this way, and how far she could go from her body, and how long until they found her and put her away and cremated her.
So many wonders.
Saundra May carried the violin downstairs but by the time she got back to the kitchen, the song was done, replaced with something more modern.
With a bang that startled Saundra so much that she droped the violen, the door burst open. In came Sirena. She tried to call out. She tried to say, Sirena, Im dead. Don't go downstairs, sweetie. You don't need to see that. But Sirena couldn’t hear her. The violen hit the floor, and melted into it.
“Gram?” Sirena called.
Saundra may went over to her and touched her cheek. She had been wanting to do that for a long time, but seven was too old for that kind of stuff. Sirena shivered. “Gram, you should really turn up the heat. Its cold in here!” Sirena marched over to the thermostat and cranked it up to max.
No, don’t do that. You’ll burn the house down! thought Saundra may. At least I’m already dead.
The furnace was old. Something Ivan had got for them over fifty years ago. Dear old Ivan.
Sirena looked around for her gram for a few more minutes. Thankfully she didn’t go downstairs. She scribbled a not in her kidish, seven year old handwriting.
“Gram, I got something to tell you! love, Rena.”
Sirena propped up the note with a vase, and left. Before she got out the door however, Saundra May smacked a big kiss on her cheek. That's for all those times were gunna miss, She thought.
Sirena left then, Leaving Saundra May in solitude. She sat around for a while, thinking of all the things in this world she was going to leave, and glancing through old photo albums. A small crackling sound awakened her from her memories. She traced it to its source and realized that the furnace was on fire. She sat down, her wispy body not able to move the rocking chair, and watched it burn. It quickly consumed most of the dinning room. Then it worked it’s way downstairs. Saundra may could feel the hot flames licking at her body. She could walk right through them, but her body, downstairs, was being burned. It was sucking her too it. little wisps of her broke off, and hurled themselves downstairs to her body. She floated downstairs too, saw her body being eaten by the flames (a disturbing image, obviously), and tried not to listen. As it burned, Saundra May’s spirit grew dimmer, and dimmer, until it burned out completely. Then Ivan was there, pulling her upwards, and as she flew, her years melted off her until she was young, and dear old Ivan was kissing her for the first time in nearly twenty years.
The house burned to the ground. Her family assumed that she had died in the fire.
They mourned for her in each a different way. Her son bought a bench in a local park in her honor.
Her few friends spent her little savings money she had on a remembrance party.
Sirena picked through the ashes, looking for something she could remember her gram with. She found it. Beneath the twisted metal of a sink, its roots washed free of protecting dirt, was a rose, wilted, but still beautiful.
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