Title: Perhaps not Lillies
Rating: PG
A/N: For 15minuteficlets. The word was elegy
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Someone had once said that it was the journey that counted the most. It was at a funeral of a late aunt where a distant relation stood at the podium and told them all that no matter how things ended, it was always the path you walked that determined the person you were. It was dear Aunt Martha's life that they remembered her, and her death meant nothing. Then she shuffled and brought out a crumpled papaer from which she had proceeded to read a poem she had written. He remembers the blotched red eyes and the quiet stammer of the girl, and Mort remembers being inclined to disagree.
Certainly if Aunt Martha's life had been a novel then her death would be the most prominent part. Her novel would be full of long-winded descriptions of daily routine and suddenly stop dead - mind the pun - when she was attacked by her axe wielding husband. In fact, Mort now thinks, the better half of her novel would be cut and her death would be the beginning of Stephen King cross Agatha Christie. Certainly the protagonist had to be her psychopathic husband driven to insanity by her constant nagging. Perhaps Aunt Martha had committed some grievious sins, and wasn't so Christian as everyone assumed her to be. At this point in the novel, only her husband would know of course. He would look out of the window and watch her talking to the gardener amongst the lillies and chrysanthemums.
Mort looks out his own cabin window. Perhaps not lillies, he thinks absent-mindedly.
He looks back to the flashing cursor.
Perhaps not lilies. (15min for once)