Mr. Heavensbee's peeling knife

The old peeling knife of Mr. Heavensbee was a worn thing.
Sharpened over and over again.
The wooden handle smoothened by decades of use.

Jenny looked at it, turning it around in her hands as she stood by Mr. Heavensbee's kitchen window.
It felt like some of the warmth was still in it.
A friendly smile flashed her memory.
The warm voice from the garden path bringing the mouth watering smell of baked apples and cinnamon.

She would miss him.
A shiny tear fell from her face onto the blade of the knife.
She smiled.
She put the knife on the windowsill and cleared her throat as she walked through the small back door outside.
The knife remained.

As Jenny walked down the garden path, like Mr. Heavensbee had done so often, she wondered.
If there was an afterlife, what would Mr. Heavensbee be doing now.
As her footsteps faded away on the gravel a beam of sunlight hit the tear on the knife and made it glow.

If there had been anyone in the kitchen they would have smelled a hint of cinnamon in the air.