A Box of His Choosing

 

Flash fiction coffin

Image via Flickr by David

10 minute flash fiction

Prompt: I’ve got my coffin – now I’m ready.

Wendell Jackson ran his hand along the coffin’s dark wood. It was smooth and warmed by the sunlight streaming through mortuary’s picture windows. It was also $1,400.

A hand on his elbow. “You can’t afford that one dad.” His son’s voice, Andrew…or was this one Thomas? It was getting hard for Wendell to keep these things straight. “Come on, let’s look at the ones over here.”

His son’s light brown eyes were wide, his eyebrows slightly raised. Andrew has green eyes, this one must be Thomas. “The one’s over there are barely better than plywood. Is that what you want for me?”

Thomas’s eyes closed and he took a breath. Probably praying for patience. Wendell never understood his children’s faith, but somehow each of his nine children had found their way to Jesus. “They’re fine dad, come look. You’ll see.”

“No. I’ve made up my mind. I want this one.” Wendell planted his feet and gripped his walker more firmly. Back at the nursing home, the staff had all the control. They woke him up, bundled him into clothes, fed him, and prescribed him medicine. They’d even decided, without consulting him, that he was no longer stable enough to walk with assistance. But here, in this house of death, he would get his own way.

He would be buried in the box of his choosing, or he would die trying.

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Comments

  1. Not Zachary Katz-Stein says:

    Great job with this one! Keep up the good work.

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