50-Word Tales #129

Grandmother was on her deathbed. ‘My last wish,’ she whispered, ‘is that you bury me next to my son.’ She moaned, she cried, she writhed. Then came the death rattle. She died. ‘I'll call the undertaker right away,’ I said. ‘No,’ grandfather snapped. ‘We’ll cremate her. It’s cheaper that way.’ Related articles 50-Word Stories #124 … Continue reading 50-Word Tales #129