today's flash fiction

There she was, in the next pew. The sun was streaming through the stained glass. Before he died, he'd
specified a Beatle's song to play as they brought the coffin in: Lucy in the sky with diamonds. A psychodelic funeral march, typically him. She turned and I noticed her greying temples. There was something different about the set of her mouth, as if she'd spent the last twenty years not saying something.
"Hello Lucy," I said.