Happy Monday! Here’s your weekly 100-word story.
Something Borrowed
The woods behind the house look exactly the same: ash, maple, sweetgum, and pine. The paths have almost disappeared, but my feet remember the way.
Beside the treehouse, I find the spot where we buried Milo. As the last handfuls of dirt covered his fur, you told me that his body wasn’t really him; it was just something he borrowed for a while to be with us.
Later, at the funeral home, when I’m stumbling through your eulogy, I promise to think of you that way.
Until then, I just want to rest here, in this familiar place, with a memory of you that still belongs to me.