Author's Notes: Another spur-of-the-moment abomination to add to the list. While there are a bazillion other writing projects I'm supposed to be working on (actually I've been promising people I'd work on them. You know who you are) I listen to some Grand Funk Railroad and Gorillaz and I write this. Duke fans rejoice. It's nothing that would mar his perfect self ;)
Open Casket
Duke Red patted Tima on the back as he held her small form in his arms. She slept peacefully, but he was so full of combusting inner turmoil, he was rumbling inside.
People had come by to shake his hand, give a flower or four, tell him how sorry they were, and then they were gone. Now he was alone, staring at her open casket. Her face was given that rosy, pink look, and now that she was at rest she looked as peaceful as the child in his arms.
Her caramel colored curls were fixed around her face; a string of alabaster pearls laced her neck. She looked ready to attend one of his fancy dinner parties, ready to stand by his side as he made boring conversation with other politicians. But that would never happen again.
His face was pale, drained of color. His hair was combed, a pleasant difference from the disheveled mess it had been that morning. He wore a fine black suit, though the tie was lying loosely around his neck. At that point he didn't care how slobby he looked to the public. He'd just lost the most important woman in his life, the mother of his child. Now the only light he could see was a faint one, a tiny pinprick in his vision. His Tima.
As though clinging to something he was afraid he might lose, he tightened his grip around Tima, and the rose she held in her tiny hand dropped to the floor. Red kneeled down to pick it up; he placed it atop his wife's hands in the casket. Turning away, he shifted Tima in his arms and began to walk away from his wife's body.
After this, he couldn't imagine ever seeing Tima in her own open casket.
Author's Note: Ack. Pointless, isn't it?