An Open Grave

Ah, Mondays… at least I think it’s Monday. The sun is cutting through the curtains and I couldn’t tell you what time it is either.


It’s cloudy and I can hear that it’s raining again. It’s been raining a lot lately and so the soil was softer than normal. This is a farm after all, and much of the soil is soft to begin with, but the rain only made it easier to shovel. I used what looks like a coal scuttle to dig with. It has a broader head which made the digging faster. I felt like I could dig twice as fast… but, to be honest, I am not sure.


I’m not sure about much right now. You would think with all the grave digging I have had to do, you know, with the Jones’ family and mom, that this would be easier, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t by a long shot. I had tried to put dad in with mom. I dug for a while but each shovel full of dirt made an image clarify in my head. I’m getting closer to mom’s body. I haven’t seen her since the accident and now I am digging up her body that I buried without a coffin eight months ago. Do I want to dig the shovel into her rotting flesh by accident? Do I want to see her like this? The idea of burying dad with mom is romantic, granted, but is it practical? The image of her rotting corpse I can never un-see… Forget it.


So, I started digging a second grave. I figured I’ll just put dad near mom. That should be good enough, right? They’ll still be together… I have no idea how long I dug for. My eyes were blurry. I’m not sure if it was raining or I was crying again. The funny thing is I don’t really know. Tears seemed to come a lot yesterday with discovering that dad was dead, and then killing him a second time didn’t help. It’s like, when he surfaced, the emotions surfaced with him and broke free from some repressed prison I’d held them back in.


I dug down about 4 feet deep. I then grabbed the tarp that dad was still tied up in. I grabbed his ankles and pulled him to the open pit. I slid him down head first. Unfortunately the tarp was slippery, sorry again dad. It seems I can’t stop myself from hitting you in the head.


I looked down on him, and then at mom’s partly dug-up grave next to him… Damnit, this’ll never do.



The rest was a blur of determination. The fears vanished and I dug like I wasn’t tired from all the day’s activities. I dug with only this thought. Damnit, he came back for her. What must he have gone through to get back here? He deserves to be by the woman he loves and died for. They need to be together.


Now, I lay here on the kitchen floor, still covered in mud looking up at the sunlight as it cracks through the kitchen curtains. I must have dug all through the night… I’m thirsty. I want cereal. I’m going to milk the cow and watch the videos from… the… video… store. Damnit! I left them wrapped up in the tarp with dad! …FUCK!


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