This weeks prompt on Sunday Scribblings is just one word - composed
Nothing could have prepared Sharon for the death of Michael. Two years ago he just disappeared. He left no note and took none of his possessions. He vanished.
They found his car, the police that was. It was burned out. Nothing was found inside. No remains. Nothing.
Searches were carried out. Local searches. International searches. Leads were followed up. His life was unravelled in the hope of finding a clue. Any clue.
All that’s left of Michael now is a file in a box on a shelf in the police headquarters. Michael’s life is summed up in three words on the cover. Missing presumed dead.
This morning she stood at the head of her staircase. Statuesque. All in black. Assembled friends and family cast their sympathetic eyes upwards as Sharon slowly descended. Step by step. So Serene. So composed.
Today was the day they all bid farewell to Michael. Today she mingled, glass in hand, floating from guest to guest accepting words of comfort, exchanging memories and dismissing trite platitudes.
This afternoon she found herself all alone. Just the echoes remained.
She shook off her shoes, cast aside her widow’s raiment’s and laughed. Oh how she laughed. For today had been a farewell from her too. Soon a taxi will arrive and take her to the airport. This time tomorrow Sharon and Michael will be reunited, and their new life begin.