We'll all drop anchor in the same final harbor - By Marie-Antoinette Eisenzimmer

Written By: Marie-Antoinette Eisenzimmer

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In a deeply introspective submission to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Marie-Antoinette Eisenzimmer presents a moving narrative titled "We'll all drop anchor in the same final harbor." This short story delves into the profound themes of identity, legacy, and the varied perceptions of one's life by others. Through the eyes of Herman, a funeral director, the narrative explores how the memories and stories shared by loved ones shape our understanding of a person's true essence.

About the Work

The story captures the delicate intersection of life and death, weaving a tapestry of emotions through Herman's observations. Each room in the funeral home reveals a unique story, illustrating the complexity of human relationships and the enduring impact of unfulfilled dreams and silent sacrifices. Marie-Antoinette's narrative style is rich with vivid imagery and emotional depth, inviting readers to reflect on the nature of selflessness, love, and the legacies we leave behind.

We'll all drop anchor in the same final harbor

Original Submission by Marie-Antoinette Eisenzimmer

We’ll all drop anchor in the same final harbor

By Marie-Antoinette Eisenzimmer

While philosophers all around the world since the beginning of time had been debating on how to define the concept of “a person”, Herman was certain, he had found the answer.

As a funeral director, he had spoken to countless family members, colleagues and friends of the deceased and each conversation about the life and death of a person was as individual as the fingerprint of the person in the casket. The way the people one left behind spoke about them during those tender, fragile times right after death, were what defined a person.

Each evening, he took a walk around the funeral parlor before he went home.

There, in room number one, rested the body of a loving grandfather. The difference between the testimonies of his son and his grand-daughter was striking. The middle-aged man barely spoke, apart from a few polite set phrases about the old man being hardworking and intelligent. The tone in his voice, when those rehearsed sentences left his mouth told a different story. A story of loneliness, distance and a yearning for his father’s love. His grand-daughter reminisced on trips to the flea market, the way his wrinkled face turned soft, when he laughed and how he had the answer to seemingly any question. Listening to her words, Herman could feel the soft, gentle hug of a man filled with quiet love. Number one was the body of a man, who had realized his mistakes in the past and had spent his remaining time on earth trying to make up for it.

Room number two sheltered the body of a woman. Breast cancer had taken her to the river Styx before she ever got the chance to nurse a child. As her mother spoke about her, silent tears formed rivers streaming down her face. The woman in number two had just graduated from university. She had always dreamed about living on the north coast in France and draw the chalk and white limestone of the cliffs, day in, day out, just like Monet did, listening to the rough waves of the ocean on a cloudy afternoon. She never made it to the sea. It was the body of a woman, who was filled with dreams and hopes, but few memories, because like most people all of her dreams started with “one day”.

To his left, was room number three, where a middle-aged man was in his eternal slumber. His wife couldn’t stop stressing how important his job as a judge was and how it filled him with pride to see his son study law, just like he and his father before him did and how he hoped that his grandchildren would also follow in his footsteps by becoming great lawyers. Herman’s gaze traveled over the judge’s closed eyes, finally resembling Justitia, and his silent lips, who would never again adjudicate, down to his chest, that shielded his heart. The funeral director wondered whether there had ever been someone in the judge’s life to truly see his heart, without armor, without Justitia’s sword, just him and only him. This man right there, had led a life of genuine lonesomeness and he prayed, that at least, it had felt like solitude to the judge.

As he came closer to the fourth room, the final earthly resting place of an elderly woman, he saw another woman standing in front of the glass pane, her left hand against it. He didn’t recall speaking to her. Just this morning he had spoken to the late husband of the woman in number four. He had never mentioned a sister. Or a close friend. Number four was a woman, that gave up her ambitions of becoming a pilot and traveling the world for a cozy, quiet life on the countryside with her husband and their four children. Her husband, her children and people from their village always praised her selflessness and kindness. When someone stayed in the hospital, she would visit, bringing self-baked goods and a handful of soothing words. She would tutor the children in her neighborhood when they struggled in school. She was the first one up and the last one to go to bed. Apparently, she had never been sick, not even for a single day.

It hurt Herman to hear about this woman, who must have never felt safe and loved enough to allow other people to see her in pain.

“Why did you have to be so selfish?”, the woman whispered, when Herman reached the fourth room.

Finally noticing the footsteps next to her, she turned her head abruptly, wide eyes stared at Herman.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the hour, I’ll be on my way”, she uttered, as she turned her back towards him to usher away.

“Don’t worry, I can stay a little longer, if you want to say goodbye”, the man called out with a smile hugged by wrinkles on his face.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you”, she stammered, slowly making her way back to the windowpane.

For a while, they just stood there in silence, shoulder to shoulder, gazes set on a face, that would neither cry nor laugh again.

“May I ask you a question?”, Herman asked, glancing at the still, almost statue-like profile of the woman next him.

“I suppose so.” Her posture remained rigid, her gaze didn’t move.

“Why did you call her selfish? I was told all about her and her devoted, even self-sacrificing ways today.”

Her lip twitched. She avoided eye contact. She formed a fist around the fabric of her pants.

“Because if she had been selfless, she would have stayed with me. She would be happy and she would be alive. But she was always so afraid of what other people might think about her, about me, about us.”

“How does that make her selfish?”

“She left me, when I needed her. I told her, that I didn’t care whether my parents would strike me from their lineage and make me a penniless woman for being who I am, and she still chose to leave me. Leave me with everlasting sorrow and money, I didn’t want to spend, meanwhile she went off to marry that…snollygoster! And then went on, to build a cozy home and have four children with him, when she told me, that she could never imagine herself to be a traditional housewife, hell, she didn’t even want children!”, the woman shouted. Her cheeks had turned red, and tears were filling the corner of her eye. She was breathing heavily.

Herman slowly stretched out his arm, lightly resting his hand on her shoulder.

“Wasn’t that her most selfless act of love? She chose to give you a simple, painless life without hardships, even when it meant for her to suffer. Isn’t that the ultimate profession of love?”

A single tear ran down her cheek. There was a long silence. Neither of them moved.

“I would have preferred a life of hardships and suffering, as long as it would have been with her.”

She turned around and left. There was no goodbye. There were no smiles.

The funeral director stayed in place. He wanted to linger in bittersweet memories of a love long gone.

Finally, he found solace in the realization that there once was a woman whom the woman in number four could share her deepest distress and highest delight with.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, offers a prestigious platform for writers to share their creative voices with the world. This event celebrates diverse literary expressions, welcoming poets and writers to contribute their reflections on life, society, and personal journeys. The competition encourages participants to explore the depths of human experience through the written word, fostering a global community of storytellers.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Marie-Antoinette Eisenzimmer for her poignant contribution, "We'll all drop anchor in the same final harbor," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her exploration into the complexities of life and relationships offers a touching reminder of the profound connections that define our existence. We are grateful for her participation in this celebration of creative expression.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.