Molly paces around the custom muscle cars and tricked-out pickup trucks. She hides from the scowling mourners smoking cigarettes on the wide front porch. With a shaking hand, she swipes pale pink lip gloss across her cut lips. Angelic voices sing of love and righteousness. Of course, his mother had hired a choir.
Molly touches the bruises barely hidden by the makeup. A tomcat leaps onto her brother-in-law’s car, rubbing its butt on the “Chicks, Not Dicks” window decal. Its swishing tail tickles her nose. She scratches its head and watches smoke escape the funeral home’s ugly metal chimney. Her Hindu grandmother believed the funeral pyre’s smoke was the glorious release of a soul. Molly feels her own soul rising, stretching beneath the stiff, black dress. She drops her cheap wedding band in the dirt and follows the old tomcat toward the road.
~~ Story by Kelly Anelons
You can follow her on twitter@kellyanelons
Tagged: angels, bruises, death, fiction, flash fiction, funeral, hindu, kellyanelons, mini fiction, muscle cars, pyre
