I can foresee now, that from here-on-in I am due to hear nothing more from them other the absurdities caused by that old *******'s will.
No one knows where it is, apart from the two who don't want anyone to know where it is. No one knows a thing about it's contents apart from... I could go on.
What baffles me is the ease at which they cast stones and snake around each other knowing that this place only exists because of that dead object and what those not quite so dead objects didn't or did do for him and to him.
Now there is a corpse and that is evidently not enough. They want more: A monopoly over that corpse, the complete removal of blood from veins that now sit, charred, in a tasteless urn.
It is a senseless battle between unintelligent mourners, where, once upon a time there stood my father.