The shovel blade sliced easily into the yielding ground.
"These things have to be done a certain way, at a certain time, or they don't work. The forms are important."
He drove it in deeper with his foot, pulled back on the handle, forced rich dark soil up from the rupture. The boy glanced around nervously, waiting amidst the headstones.
"There's a tradition; you're part of that now."
A car horn sounded somewhere; a dog barked somewhere else. The pile of dirt mounted beside the deepening hole.
"Coffin won't be much further. You say the words like I taught you."
Nicely done. I would love to see where this story started and where it's going.ReplyDelete