Page 43 - The Houseguest

cookouts or socialize. The only time anyone in the surrounding area probably looked at the house was to comment on how its slow dilapidation would be soon affecting their property values. I was reminded of a lyric from a song we used to love: “There’s nothing time doesn’t touch.”
A consoling combination of agony and pleasure felt warm as it passed through my veins. I was preparing my journey to the other side, to be united with the only love I’d ever known.
It was pitch dark around me when my eyes finally opened. I still felt excruciating pain, only now it had increased and traveled through what felt like every nerve in my body. But that didn’t disappointment me as much as the mere fact that I did wake up, which meant I was still alive. That reality surpassed any of the pain from the fall. It took me a while to become aware of my surroundings and the situation. The dried blood caked around my eyes made it difficult to blink or determine my location. I looked around at the houses, though none were in close proximity because when choosing the house for Karina, I wanted her to have her seclusion without the interruptions of intrusive neighbors.
As facts became clearer, panic set in when I realized the urns lay a few yards in front of me.
I found it oddly comforting they had fallen so near each other, but couldn’t tell if the containers were still intact. Because of my recent rejection of the Almighty, I felt a pang of guilt saying a prayer that their cremains were not scattered in the driveway to be washed away with the next rain: “Please God, let me have this.”
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life