The day after my death, my brothers sent my body for cremation as I wished. They booked the best service the funeral parlor had to offer.
I followed my body into the crematorium and watched as the flames licked at it, slowly turning it into ashes, I vaguely heard sobs as the fire burned.
I didn’t pay much attention to it. Instead, I relished in the fact that I’d finally gotten to live in a place of my choosing–my urn.
My plan had been to haunt their dreams if they hadn’t done as I’d wished. Fortunately, everything went smoothly. I was relieved–I didn’t want to have anything to do with them
anymore.
Gary picked up my urn and took it to my resting spot. I looked around, feeling satisfied. It was a place with a nice view.
He stroked my photo, his lips moving slightly. I had to get closer to him to hear him mumbling an apology.
What was the point, though? I no longer harbored any hope for these people. Anyway, I was already dead. If they really wanted to apologize to me, they could do it once they were dead,
too.
For some reason, my soul remained in this world. I kept being drawn back to the Jensens. I moved from one brother to the other.
