Sara Little
Bio
Writer and high school English teacher seeking to empower and inspire young creatives, especially of the LGBTQIA+ community
Stories (66)
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Her Last Farewell
Eleanor hated funeral homes. Lonely, loathsome places, in her opinion. She hated the way those places made her feel. The way she shrank under the stern gaze of looming windows. The stale perfume of wilting roses and carnations thickening the chilly parlor air. The hollowing of her stomach every time she approached a casket, that final “good-bye” stuck in her throat like a knot of spiders. And the heavy dread that lurked in the shadowy corners of the overcrowded rooms, a sinister reminder of the inevitable. Eleanor had bid farewell to most of her family, friends, and even a few strangers in rooms not unlike the one in which she now found herself. The furniture, the wallpaper, the flowers, the murmuring crowd, all identical from one to the next. Even the corpses had begun to blur together into the same ambiguous visage. Except for this one. The body that now lay stiffly reposed in the silk-lined coffin was more familiar to her than her own reflection. She had spent sixty-seven years memorizing every angle and curve and twinkling aspect of the man that rested before her. The once brilliant smile of vitality and mischief now winced under permanently closed eyes, and the knotted hands closed over the sunken chest cavity belied their former gentle strength, now a mere gnarl of skin and bone. Her darling Theo. His was the only familiar face to her in the parlor. His, and the woman’s.
By Sara Little2 years ago in Fiction
