On a sunny day my father and i were working on a new table. It was looking great as we put every piece together. The table was like a puzzle. You could pull each end out and in the middle there would be some planks going up. That way you had a bigger table. when the table was done and it got a coating of protection spray we tought it would be great if the table should be used by ourselves. So we eventually placed it in our own diningroom and sold the old kitchentable.
In the upcoming years my family had great feasts from the table and it was very sturedy. Then one day my father died. I had a great deal of me that died with him. He was my best friend. As a memorial we placed his ashes on the table we made together, and we never ate from that table again. 8 months went by. And my family and i were living our life to the fullest and i had found a girlfriend so decided i wanted to live with her. So i did.
2 months later my mother called me in the middle of the night and yelled on the phone the house was on fire. I rushed to her house and comforted my mother and my sister. Then all of a sudden the flames shot up trough the roof as if a big vacuum sucked up all the flames from above. The flames dissapeared in a sort of turbine, like a tornado. The flames were gone. But it was too late, everything was already burned. 2 days later when the fire department gave us the clear to go check out the burned house. We looked for left over photos of our family together, but nothing turned up. Everything was gone. Untill i saw a glimpse of the table i made with my father there it was, ellegant as ever, with my fathers ashes spread all over the top. The table was unscaved. No burn marks at all. The table was one hundred precent pristene.
We decided to take the table in my house. My mother and sister lived with my girlfriend and me for a little while and eventually went to a new house. But the table remained in our house. Whenever i walked past the table or looked at it, i could feel him. I knew he was connected to the table somehow. He was always there, sitting on the edge of the table. Watching over us.
Written by Michael Kraus.