There was a tough prompt on this week's Microcosms.
Mountain Path
At this distance she could no longer hear the pulsing music from the luau below but could still see the fire dancers. The spinning flames circled around and around, reminding her of the wedding band on her finger.
She turned back to the vague, thin man beckoning her up the mountain. Always far enough away to only make out his toothy grin. She walked farther up the hill, her husband’s ashes in their pouch bouncing against her thigh. She knew where the smiling guide was leading her. She was willing to go there. Up to the mouth of the volcano where she would join her husband in the next world.
Finding the macabre in the mundane
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