Simon

Talim won’t tell them how he got the ashes.  Doesn’t matter.  They pile into Craig’s van, and they’re at the bluff in thirty minutes.

There’s a brief technical discussion, then Viola puts the little urn into its sling.  “So, wait,” says Paula, who flew in from Denver for the service.  “He had you guys build this thing?”

Luther shakes his head.  “You kidding?  He built it.  Like, months ago.”

“That’s-” Paula starts, and then chokes on tears.

“Here we go,” says Lauren, and pulls the crank.  The trebuchet unfolds, swings its lazy arc, and sends Simon’s ashes to the moon.

One Response to “Simon”

  1. beautiful.

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