Ashes to ashes, he always said. It sounded strange until you got to know him. He’d lost his wife and spread her ashes out over the ocean. They say he never recovered. On any given day, you could find him on the pier, muttering to himself, holding a seashell in his hand. Rumors swirled among townsfolk that there were ashes held captive inside that shell, the last remains of his beloved wife. You could set your watch by his appearance, until you couldn’t. He just disappeared one day, the opened shell floating along the shoreline the only evidence of his departure.
Another Friday, another image to inspire my muse this week from Madison Woods and her clever #FridayFictioneers. A picture, a 100 words. You can do this!
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