A stiff breeze whipped across the snowy field. There was silence . . . then,
“Cold today, isn’t it?” The wife said.
“Yeah, not as bad as last week though. I don’t know why we stay here in the winter. Next year, let’s go south, I’m thinking Key West,” said the husband.
“That would be a great place. How do you propose getting there?”
“You’re the one with the ideas, I thought you’d know.”
“Not a clue,” she said.
The husband thought before he spoke, then said, “We both know leaving will be tough. The kids will make a scene. They’ll want us to stay because neither will want to cover the expenses. Worse, they’ll want to visit, to make memories, then try to figure how to get us to pay for everything.”
“But I love making memories with the kids,” she said.
“Hey, that’s great but haven’t you figured it out yet, our memory making days are over? Even they know that.”
She said, “I guess you’re right about the memories and the kids and it is too cold to stay here in the winter anymore.”
“Okay, south to Key West it is. I’m glad we got that settled. Now, who exhumes our cremains and moves us?”
The breeze died down. Then . . . there was silence.
–EDWARD N. MCCONNELL
Edward N. McConnell is a happily retired trial lawyer, a former adjunct professor of trial advocacy and a former State Archivist of Iowa. He started writing flash fiction and short stories in 2020. He enjoys a good story with a twist and tries to write one every once in a while. His flash fiction and short stories have appeared in Literally Stories, Terror House Magazine, Refugeonlinejournal.org, MasticadoresIndia, Mad Swirl and, soon, in Rural Fiction Magazine, Drunk Monkeys, and Down in the Dirt. He lives in West Des Moines, Iowa with his wife.
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