The morning mist of light rain chills the damp air. The sprinkles fall like fairy dust.
Somber moans of grief echoing in the silence mimic the sound of metal thumps.
Our hearts shattered into aching pieces with memories of her kindly, gentle spirit.
The dark holes of fragmented pieces felt in each of us.
Grandmother would have called this a celebration of her life.
‘No tears, no sorrow for my death, just joyful memories of my days,’ she’d say.
Grandmother’s friends were remembering her vibrant life.
A dark hole of broken hearts forever silences her wise words in the end.
2021©Isadora De La Vega
Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
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*****The elderly continue to be the biggest victims of this dreaded pandemic that we’re still in the midst of experiencing. My daughter is a counselor at a hospice hospital in Albany, NY. The deaths are staggering. Please get vaccinated and wear masks.