The Handsomest Drowned Man

Sometimes, I wake up scared that when I die my body will be put in a casket and my soul won't be able to leave and then I'll be stuck a scary creepy ghost that haunts people because I'm angry that I can't be somewhere else and I'm still stuck on Earth.  I don't ever want to be underground.  That's why when I die I want to be burned, and my ashes put in a basket.  Then throw them in the open air, off a mountain, off a cliff, into the ocean.  Just somewhere where I'm not in one spot for the rest of my life.  Where my soul can leave when it wants.  I don't want my funeral to be a big thing, or have it be a sad day.  I want people to have a party after I die.  Celebrate that my soul has gone on to wander the universe, and that I'm as happy as I always was.  My funeral will be like my mother's parents was.  They were both creamated, and their ashes were thrown off a cliff into Lake Superior off of their favorite point in Canada.  That's kind of like what I want.



  The story The Handsomest Drowned Man makes me think death for the Latin American culture is a big deal.  I mean, they didn't even know the guy and the whole village cleaned up his body, and made him clothes.  Basically prettied him up before they threw him back into the ocean.  At the end of the story they all remember him by making their houses able to accomidate larger sized people.  I think this shows the respect they have for the dead, and how they keep memories of the dead.  Yep, that's it.  Bye.



-Katy(: