Chris Mooney - World Without End

"This place is heaven," John Riley said. He turned his baseball cap backward the sure sign that he was shit-faced.

"When we die, you think you and I will go to a place like this?"

"I doubt heaven is a ski lodge with blond chicks with big plastic tits."

"Of course it is. Why do you think I go to church every Sunday?" Riley laughed, drank some of his beer.

"Where do you think we go?"

"Into the ground."

"And?"

"And that's it."

Riley laughed.

"You're one morbid son of a bitch, you know that?"

"What can I tell you, I was raised a Catholic Riley laughed again.

Then his eyes, shining with alcohol, turned serious.

"It's all about choices, Steve."

Riley put on his sunglasses and stared out at the sunshine, at the people parading in front of him, his life limitless, his smile wide and genuine.

Here, alone with the water and sea air and a lifetime away from that memory, Conway made the choice to remember the good times. This is the power we have.

Steve Conway lifted up the lid on the urn. The wind kicked the ashes into the air. They swirled up into his face, into his nose and lungs, and when he looked up, the ashes danced around him and sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight. He closed his eyes and dove deep within himself, to those locked places where we hide and protect what we love and treasure. This is where we remember. This is where we live.