"I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it." ― Mark Twain
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The ancient map-makers wrote across unexplored regions, 'Here are lions.'
Across the villages of fishermen and turners of the earth, so different are these from us, we can write but one line that is certain, 'Here are ghosts.'
- W.B. Yeats, The Celtic Twilight
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~ Enid Fletcher Goes For A Walk ~
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A friendly wind pulled at Enid's pale blue coat, the wind gently guiding her up the wet cobbled road.
The coat she wore did little to keep out the frigid cold, but she ignored the biting chill that seeped through the fabric and into her bones. This was an easy discomfort to tolerate.
On either side of her the houses witnessed her slow, steady ascent, listening to the clear click of her heels disturbing the quiet morning.
She carried an old picnic basket in one gloved hand, and in the picnic basket there sat a metallic silver and grey urn that contained the ashes of her dearly departed husband, Edmund.
The urn lay awkwardly on its side.
No care had been taken in how it had been placed in the basket, and with every movement that she made, with every step that she took, Edmund rolled around helplessly.
Enid gazed ahead of her and kept walking. There was a very important task ahead of her.
The night before she had been watching a variety show on the television, laughing quietly at the jokes while drinking a large glass of wine, alone and with no one to sit in judgement of her. She felt no guilt in her indulgences whatsoever. Her feet rested comfortably on the center table, her toenails painted a daring cherry red, while Edmund watched her from his urn on the mantelpiece.
She ignored him, and ignoring him gave her a great deal of pleasure.
She raised the glass of wine to him in the urn, and then held the glass of wine to her lips to take a long sip.
Enid was enjoying her life now, made up of slow easy days: shopping excursions and expensive meals mostly taken alone.
She had signed up for online classes hoping to learn something new in crafting or writing, maybe home repairs or gardening, but she didn't complete the lessons to their end.
She joined book clubs and fell asleep reading the books meant for discussion at a later date.
Mostly, she spent long nights in front of the television watching whatever programs she wanted, falling asleep in her armchair, the blur of the tv casting eerie shadows on her lovely face as she slept.
