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I'm holding on but my fingers are slipping...
Write a NON-romantical/horror atory with the line above as the central theme.
Profile avatar image for emiricha
emiricha

It’s been 14 months since you left

They gave us all roses and told us to wear floral dresses because you

loved

flowers?

That's a weird thing to remember about someone.

Who doesn't like flowers?

I made a pie the other day. I put the butter in the freezer first and my mother said "why would you do that?" but it's how you

taught

baking.

What a weird thing to question about someone.

Who doesn't freeze their pie butter?

We packed my belongings. Among them I found a rose, dried, labeled

"Gwen's funeral, 2019"

and I spun it carefully across my palm before holding it up--

to my nose.

Such a weird thing to do for someone.

Expect to still smell them in their own funeral rose,

a rose they never touched

a rose they never chose.

A rose that their grandchildren carried--

I'm holding on, but my fingers are slipping--

to put in an urn

--you're slipping, Grandma--

because yes, she loved flowers.

Not music or magazines or God or telling naughty jokes with an impish smile.

So our lasting tribute,

just like every other dead person,

is...this drugstore rose.

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