The end

No one told Luci that when the fabric of her soul ripped from her body, it would hurt. She had lived a peaceful life all the way up to hospice. Got in a scuffle with a few nurses that were shorting her on her jello. Had to casually remind some greedier relatives that she was dying, not dead, and that she wasn't leaving them anything. She kept her promise happily. Her only child, a daughter, died in childbirth alongside her first and only grandson, and she had outlived her husband, Hubert. All that she had, about eight grand and a beautiful barrette that her great-great-grandfather got fired from his factory job over, were going to the poor. Maybe they'd see the beauty in the note she wrote about the barrette being the only thing her family had to pass down. Maybe they'd get some nice shoes and enough soup with the money. Maybe the directors of the shelter she donated to would throw away the barrette and her note and put in a new pool. It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered now. In fact, the hardest part of the end for her was the pain of letting go of herself.