A cold, grey, metallic container. Dust is inside. Dust we have given meaning so that the pain hurts less. It enables this type of sunset clause of pain. As time goes on it gets less and less. The greater our love was, the longer it takes to get over this loss. And vice versa, I suppose. Urn above the mantel keeps watch over the whole house – until years pass and we forget that it’s there. It is a depressing reminder that brings sadness in its wake. Urn filled with ashes. Imprisoned in its metallic tomb. On display like zoo animals.

An earthquake rumbles from the core of the Earth. It falls, the lid opens, and the contents spill out. It’s almost like another death. Peter bends down while the room still quakes, and tries his best to use his hand to sweep the ash back into the container. But as he does this, he notices there is a piece of paper in the urn. It is white and folded up into quarters. Looking up, he sees a vase falling and moving his head, narrowly misses what would surely have been a knockout. Anna is terrified, balled up under the table sucking her thumb. He should be comforting her. He takes the paper and runs to her hideout as the tremors continue to wreak havoc on their home. The noise is eerie. The minutes feel like days. He holds Anna close as she buries her head in his chest, silently crying, clutching her stuffed bunny rabbit. He stays on alert, making sure nothing else can harm them. Earthquakes are an irregular game. There are no rules, nothing is certain, and the range of play is undetermined. Suddenly, quiet. Peter’s bones are still vibrating. He feels Anna hold her breath. He reassuredly rubs her back and pats her hair down. Slowly he makes his way out from under the table with her, opening the front door. Other people on their streets have also decided to peak their heads outside, to see how bad the damage is. There is a crack in the street. A telephone pole has come down onto a tree. Peter forgets he’s holding the note until Anna asks him. He’s startled that he’s been holding it for so long without opening it.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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