When I’m gone, and some day I will be gone, do I want some obscene monument to my having been here raised in a cemetery somewhere?
No, not even a marker thank you.
I would rather you wrap me in yesterday’s newspaper, like the catch of the day, and bury me beneath the branches of some ancient oak.
Or sycamore perhaps.
Let my remains feed the roots, my DNA seeping into it’s essence. Climbing into it’s branches. That some remnant of me may still feel the breeze.
That the tree that gave me shade while I took breath will receive my thank you for doing so.
No concrete sarcophagus for me please, I will not have it.
About the Creator
Katie
Really just an amateur trying my hand at this.
The Voyeur's Incandescent Reasoning
The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Authorabout 24 hours ago in Fiction
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