The crowd gathered on the banks of the holy river was a living, feeling organism in itself. It ebbed and flowed mimicking the dirty brown water and it glowed with spectacle not unlike the river.
Some cried, some laughed, some were relieved, some took selfies, and some just stood there taking in the scenes.
Most of them had come to say goodbyes to their loved ones, the lamps cast in the waters apparently guiding the departed souls to heaven.
One by one, the lamps flickered and vanished. The crowd too.
Tomorrow, new lamps, new crowd, new waters.
Different, but same.
Word Count: 100
Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Carla Bicomong for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. Please find other entries here.