When I die, don’t cry for me. :)
Cremate my body, and burry me under a tree.
Give me a tombstone that says “Here lies Chad Tabary. 35 more words
After watching the small meteor burn up in midair, leaving only a few dark snowflakes of ash to drift gently down to the earth, the boy stared at the dark blue sky and remembered the smell of burnt coffee at the hospital and the smoke of the crematorium, and he said to himself as he walked home through tawny fields, haunted industrial marshes and arcane mineral streets of concete and cast iron, I am not made of stardust.
At the Margibi crematorium near Boys Town, Liberia, the ground is shingled with buckets of broken bones. They fill containers and oil drums, casting shadows over the burial ground, and reminding nearby residents of the alien practice adopted at the height of the Ebola outbreak: cremation. 164 more words