Devon stood and looked down at the sea. She felt a sense of tranquility as she watched the waves lapping over the beach. There was a slight breeze and the occasional sound of a gull yelling something or other at his mates.
She took the urn from her rucksack and opened the lid.
"Goodbye, darling," she said.
She tipped the urn and poured the ashes off the cliff top. The wind changed direction and blew them straight at her. She covered her eyes and coughed, imagining how funny her late husband would have found it.
A cyclist was passing on the narrow footpath. The ashes stung him in the face and he swerved suddenly, ploughing into Devon.
The two of them and the bike fell towards the beach. The urn was nestled in the long grass at the top of the cliff.
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