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The Rose

Allan Onik

    Tab laid the rose on the coffin. Light shined through the windows of the funeral parlor and accented the dark wood and floral decorations. Most of the attendees of the wake were dressed in black, and talking softly to each other.
    Ada walked beside him and looked down at the rose and closed casket. “I can’t believe she’s really gone,” she said, “I hope you’re ok.” She was wearing a long black dress.
    “Before she left us I took her to the fair out on the outskirts. Made her feel a little a little better I think.”
    “Did you guys have fun?”
    “A blast. You know, its funny. It almost feels as if she hasn’t gone anywhere. Like she’s still in the room with me right now.”
    “She’ll always live with us in our memories,” Ada said, “and even when it’s our time we won’t forget her. What else does it mean to be human? Other than to Love, and see memories linger—like a still shot in the sun.”
    Tab sipped his coffee. “Do you want to take a walk? A little fresh air outside? It would do us good.”
    “Of course,” Ada said.
    They opened the front parlor doors and began to walk the path. The light was bright, and they passed sunflowers and working bees. But as they continued their trek the light took on a whiter tone, and soon there was nothing left but the two and the warmth and bright.
    “Look down there,” Ada said. She pointed to the ground. Tab noted it. A rose grew out of the white aura. He picked it and closed his eyes.

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