Fiction Friday: Feb 10, 2017

They came back every year to lay flowers at the spot.

Cars wiggled past while we watched from the overpass. They came one atop the other, less than a foo apart. A shrill giggle rose within me at the sight.

“Isn’t spiting more traditional?” Cody glanced between me and the traffic below. “That’s what we’ve always done before.”

I pointed to the side of the highway. A cross, white and wreathed in flowers, stood fast in the ground. “The family comes here every year. They were here a few days ago. It seems appropriate. Besides—” I waved my hands at the wet pellets spewing from the sky “—spiting in the rain is pointless.”

Cody grabbed a handful of flowers from the bag at his feet. Less than an hour ago, they’d rested at the base of the cross.

People don’t notice roadside crosses, you know. They don’t care if there have been accidents in the past, they just want to drive faster.

Well, this, they would notice.

I took as many flowers as I could hold and smirked down. “It’s funeral time, ladies and gentlemen.”

Cody and I let go at the same time. Petals rained down, heavy in the storm. The screeching and screaming began.

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