A dozen relatives stood around the tomb
while the priest recited lines
that should have held deep meaning.
Stone faced, not a single child cried.
The widow, inconsolable, unable to not
grieve, stood alone. Cried alone. Carried on
with a life made vacant by different kinds of leaving.
Twenty years later, her turn comes and
history repeats itself.
The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, a host with the most.