Supernatural drabble: Wind
Disclaimer: The K in Kripke stands for Keeper of Supernatural (the other k for keenly awesome).
Author's Note: yet another spn_30snapshots drabble from theme 1 (Elemental).
***
It was one of the worst functions John had ever had the misfortune of attending let alone organize, and the function was not awful simply because it was a funeral.
The problem was rather the ashes. They were supposed to be his wife, but he wasn't sure there was much Mary in them. He had taken the ashes from the area he thought had been Sammy's bedroom, and even if he had the area correct there had been no way of telling what ashes were Mary and what ashes were crib, walls, or roof.
John could feel the weight of people's eyes on him as he took his handful of ashes. He suspected people were staring at his furry face and squinting circled eyes. Once upon a time he had been a pretty boy mechanic who looked more white collar than blue collar, but now his blue collar roots were showing like black roots in peroxide hair.
John's hand opened like a firework as he scattered his wife's ashes. The ashes caught in the wind and blew back on the funeral party like rain. Anyone who was not red eyed and weepy became so. Indeed, the ashes scratched John's eyes and caught in his throat conspiring to produce the trails of twin slugs over the terrain of his face and make him cough uncontrollably.
As John blinked slugs, coughed, and helped Dean and Sammy scatter their handful of ashes, John thought the house was not entirely unsuitable to be throwing to the wind. The Winchester home had perished with Mary.
Author's Note: yet another spn_30snapshots drabble from theme 1 (Elemental).
***
It was one of the worst functions John had ever had the misfortune of attending let alone organize, and the function was not awful simply because it was a funeral.
The problem was rather the ashes. They were supposed to be his wife, but he wasn't sure there was much Mary in them. He had taken the ashes from the area he thought had been Sammy's bedroom, and even if he had the area correct there had been no way of telling what ashes were Mary and what ashes were crib, walls, or roof.
John could feel the weight of people's eyes on him as he took his handful of ashes. He suspected people were staring at his furry face and squinting circled eyes. Once upon a time he had been a pretty boy mechanic who looked more white collar than blue collar, but now his blue collar roots were showing like black roots in peroxide hair.
John's hand opened like a firework as he scattered his wife's ashes. The ashes caught in the wind and blew back on the funeral party like rain. Anyone who was not red eyed and weepy became so. Indeed, the ashes scratched John's eyes and caught in his throat conspiring to produce the trails of twin slugs over the terrain of his face and make him cough uncontrollably.
As John blinked slugs, coughed, and helped Dean and Sammy scatter their handful of ashes, John thought the house was not entirely unsuitable to be throwing to the wind. The Winchester home had perished with Mary.