They were a strange couple.
Neither of their parents had ever been tracked down. If they had been, they wouldn’t want to meet them. They were not a sociable couple. They never really mixed. She had never collected stamps, too much interaction with others. He wouldn’t know how to hang glide; it meant meeting people. Neither of them had ever seen the Sagano Bamboo Forests in Japan, although they often talked about it, they both wanted to, but they would have had to spend time with other tourists. She had never gone shopping during busy periods, in case she met someone. Pubs were out for him; much too crowded. If truth be told, although a twosome, they had as little to do with each other as possible. In fact, they rarely spoke to one another.
To facilitate this lack of togetherness, they each had their own cars. That was until her vehicle broke down and he had to drive her out to her special, lonely spot out of town, where she would go to knit. It was while travelling there that it happened that completely out of the blue and without any warning, she went to say something. This event had such a profound effect on him that he lost control of the vehicle, sending it through a hedge, across a field into a farmer’s hay barn, where it smashed into a metal support and the engine exploded. Within moments of the flames taking hold, bales of hay dislodged by the impact began tumbling down. In no time at all, the whole thing became a blazing inferno.
Later, by some queer dint in the fabric of what might be called the rich tapestry of life, their ashes, for that’s all there was now, were not labelled correctly. This brought about a situation where there was doubt about who was who.
Two urns; half in each.
They mixed.