The Fine Print on Being Alive - Writing Prompt #22
Everything is on its way to somewhere else
This week, a told you a story that left barely a trace in my family’s lore. If I brought it up now, someone might say, “Oh, yeah! I remember that!” But more likely, they’d make that thinking face (you know the one), ponder for a moment, and admit they don’t recall the time a strange man lay dead, sprawled in the dim stairwell leading to an apartment on our farmhouse.
No one would doubt it happened, of course. It’s too one-the-nose for our family to be made up. Still, it saddens me. I’m probably the only one alive who remembers seeing a man, freshly showered, shoes scattered beside him, lying on those stairs completely devoid of life.
I never learned his name. And somehow, all these years later, I’ve become the keeper of this significant piece of his story, its end. No lights and sirens. No fanfare. No medical drama at all, Just a quiet reminder that everything’s finite.
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With love,
Karen
