Old Yang’s Noodle Shop

by Justin Corbitt

It didn’t look like the ashes came from an urn.

I mean, then again, it’s hard to say if that is completely accurate.  I’ve never seen ashes from an urn.  In fact, I don’t think I have ever know anyone to be cremated, or seen the cremation process, or seen the end result.  In short, I can only imagine the remains of someone, who chose to be set on fire once they expired, as a super fine white-gray ash.  More like the sand on a beach at some far off exotic locale than say the end of a burnt up cigarette.

The earthly remains of Mr. Yang’s Noodle Shop did not fit the bill at all.  The charred mass of a skeleton gave no indication of peace.  Dirt and mud mixed and coated the collapsed structure, whilst a cloud of ash and dust hung in the air and settled in little swirling pools.  Burnt, blackened wood debris, still smoldering and sticking out amongst the rebar and shattered glass, gave the ghastly appearance of a broken, misshapen spinal cord, as if the small building had broken its back when it tried to roll around on the ground and put itself out. Continue reading…