The colonist’s entered the church in silence. The reality of the day overwhelming them. One by one, they filed past the wooden crates that bore the bodies of Emri and Zithri. Beside them sat their only son, Miklak. In time, he would become as loved as his parents, but that wouldn’t be for years to come. For now, he was a child bereft of family.
Miklak misshapen limbs painfully cramped from being so still. He wanted to do anything but sit here in silence.
‘Will this day never end?’ He thought.
Cenotaph: /ˈsenəˌtaf/ : a monument to someone buried elsewhere, especially one commemorating people who died in a war.
Author’s Note: I wonder what kind of cenotaph would be appropriate to Emri and Zithri, the first humans to repopulate the Earth after it’s nuclear wars had decimated the landscape? And, what kind of person will this little boy become? I’ve already written the story of Miklak in other stories, so I know that he will be just as great as his parents were and he will “colonize” a new world within their world.
On a personal note, It has been a difficult week with Covid taking the lives of three very dear friends who lived local. A grandmother, her wee granddaughter, and the daughter of a dear one. They won’t have any grand memorials, but I feel blessed for having had their companionship for many years.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here. This week’s photo has been graciously donated by: Dale Rogerson.