(Another try) Ashes That Burn

The taste of coffee lingered on Bridget's teeth as she stalked down the empty street, her manicured nails now gnawed and the paint chipped in several spots as they fidgeted with bits of loose threads in her pockets.  She hated Josh; everything from his straight, perfectly white teeth to his stupid shoes that squeaked when he would approach...she wished she had never, ever laid eyes on his annoying perfection.  She licked her chapped, thin lips, fighting the hot, angry tears that prickled her eyes from the...don't think the word, don't think the... the break-up... yes, he was a total jerk.  McAffree's was her favourite, favourite coffee place, for God's sake!  And he had to tarnish it with an eiskaffee-sipped lie session, filled with countless "It's not you," and "It's me," and the final, "I think we should see other people."  And there was nothing he could do about it once his words hit home.  The first smart thing he'd done during the entire encounter was leaving first.  

Well, the good part was...she now had more time to finish that cheesy romance novel...oh, right...that was his.  She had to give it back...or did she?  She could always toss it into the fire that night, pretending how she had just forgotten that it was his, and she needed more tinder... She smiled to herself as pressed the button to change the light allowing her to cross the street.  

"I bet mom didn't have to go through this with dad," she said to herself as she passed the cemetery in which her mother was buried.  She peeked in out of the corner of her eye, and stopped short, her heels skidding on the sidewalk.  

Sobbing.  Was that what she heard?  She turned to face the cemetery, placing her hands on the cool, iron gates, and looked around.  She didn't see anyone... 

"Hello?" she called, marching over to the archway that bore the name, "Peaceful Resting Graveyard," and crossing through it.  Petals of flowers billowed in the wind, swirling around the stones, causing Bridget to notice their special attention drawn to one stone in particular.  There was a young boy kneeling in front of it, a single coral rose laid out in front of him.  His hands were covering his face and a hood over his head, but the shaking of his slumped shoulders and sounds that seemed to emerge from his general direction led Bridget to believe that he was the one crying.  

Bridget tiptoed closer to the stone, barely able to read the etchings on it, drawing in a gasp when she processed the information.  

"Time heals all," it read, glowing faintly.  Petals continued to convulse in a spiraling formation, like a whirlpool as they danced around it, climbing higher into the sky before flying away.  

She had heard that saying many, many times, had pinned it up on her cork board, and even jotted it on a sticky note and put it up on her mirror in her bathroom, but facing it now, somehow she couldn't think of a time where she would not feel the heart-wrenching agony that Josh had inflicted on her.  She scoffed at it, and suddenly the wind began to howl as if in response. 

(TBC...reminders for self: 
-No hoods allowed...hides identity
-http://www.shabbir.com/romance/rosemean.html
-http://www.google.ca/search?q=what+is+an+anachronism&aq=0&oq=what+is+an+anach&sugexp=chrome,mod=11&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#hl=en&q=anachronism&tbs=dfn:1&tbo=u&sa=X&ei=Isc-UPH1F6T50gHcoYDoCg&ved=0CCAQkQ4&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.&fp=f7fcbf5901283508&biw=1366&bih=681
-The time has struck right by the clock, and then went on its way
  It sped up and went on a run, having nothing left to say
  Time is your friend, willing to be bent at your will
  Wishing for more,  begging for less, or wanting it to merely stand still,
  Just stand in the loop and make your own stitch
  Beware, though, for your future may just glitch.)
 

The End

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