Micro Monday - March 24, 2025

Parting Thoughts

Happy Monday! Posting this one a little later than usual, but here’s your weekly microfiction.

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Parting Thoughts

Two years before my grandpa died, he bought a small black notebook. He kept it with him day and night, and never let anyone read what he wrote.

“You can read it when I’m dead,” he promised.

So we waited.

At the funeral home, we gathered in the reception room for a private viewing. He’d left behind very specific instructions for his service: open casket for the family, closed casket for everyone else. He’d already chosen his suit, his tie, his watch, and his glasses.

But we didn’t see any of these things. We were all fixated on the small black book nestled tightly between his hands.

“How did that get here?”

“Who cares? What do you think it says?”

“He did say we could read it when he died…”

Everyone looked at Grandma. We all wanted to know, but it was her decision, and nobody would touch it if she didn’t.

But she just smiled and shook her head. “Best not to give him the satisfaction,” she said. Then she reached up and closed the lid of the casket.

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Fun fact about this one: in the original ending, Grandpa actually wrote a single sentence in the book, which the family gathered around to read. I prefer this ending, though. I like the idea that we all get to die with a few mysteries unsolved, and I think Grandma would agree.