Pastiche

She was just a girl when she began to collect those broken shards of glass. She sifted through the sands, squealing with delight each time she found another piece of treasure. Each time she went to the beach -- with parents, friends, boyfriend, alone -- she would search for more. She hid them in the pocket of her jeans, waited til the world had gone to bed before transferring them to the shoebox stashed in the back of her closet. She thought the fairies might play with them at night.

Much later, she made a mosaic. She took those pieces of glass, from years and years ago, and laid each one out. Then she welded them together, the shiny hard quilt of her life, her days on the beach. When she was done, she buried it in the ground. She covered it with dirt, and watered it. Every day she sprinkled sugar-water over the spot where her life's work lay, and every night she watched it.

Yesterday she died. She simply never woke. However, from the spot where she'd buried her treasure, her life, a rainbow sprung up, shooting across the sky and filling it with color.