Mud by Sealie
New fandom: Stargate Atlantis
The ashes caught under his smoothly pared
fingernails. Grains bit into the sensitive wicks at the edges of his nails
turning the surgically scrubbed pink skin dark and grey. Slowly,
The remnants dispersed in a breath of wind like a
puff of warm breath on a frosty November morning in
Then they would eat him.
Now was the moment to pass on the urn to the sentinel standing behind him waiting patiently for his turn.
The third handful felt much like the others, too dry and delicate for words. Body burnt and bones crushed. There was no land on Atlantis for burial and to cast a body into the sea might cause unparalleled destruction to the ecosystem that the group’s marine biologists had yet to plumb.
So fire and pestle rendered the people he knew and loved to ashes.
Rodney would probably prefer to be engulfed by the event horizon of an awakened stargate or cryogenically frozen and cast into space to be resurrected by aliens in some distant future.
It was hard to resurrect a desiccated husk when vitality and unparalleled laziness had been drained and drank.
Who was he going to tease?
All gone. He turned and manufactured
a smile which nobody would believe.
“You were the best bastard, McKay.” John threw his handful with all his might and then tucked the urn under his left arm and saluted, thumb tucked neatly, hand straight, wrist locked and elbow cocked. No sloppiness today.
Short, sharp and sweet.
Sheppard thrust the ashes at Weir – last to speak –
the one with the prepared elegy.
Resources and time were tight,
So cremation and simple ceremony.
Should have been stardust not mud.