Back in May, I submitted a story called The Smiling Roses to the Carrot Ranch’s regular 100 word weekly challenge, which concludes with a man’s ashes being scattered under some roses. I have since discovered that this would have made the roses very ill indeed, which would have defeated the point of the insult. So this is the re-write; hope you enjoy it.
As Phoebe drove home with her husband, Spike, strapped into the passenger seat, she decided it was time for him to hear some home truths.
‘Spike, in all our married years, never once did you praise anything I did or nourish me when it mattered. Far from putting me on a pedestal, you never missed an opportunity to put down my ‘stupidity’.’
Phoebe arrived home, unstrapped Spike’s urn and removed the lid. She emptied his ashes into the instant-mix concrete slurry and completed her path to the front gate.
‘You can look up to me now, Spike. Every day.’