A Short Story : A Story?

Remaining on the gravel road, passing the first curb with a big old pine tree on the left. The sudden calmness takes over my body, as I approach her gravestone feeling her presence. The smell of fresh, crisp pine trees in your nasal cavities. The smell is much stronger this morning from the rain storm the night before and so relaxing like the smell of a little tree air freshener. I approach to her gravestone, as the summer morning warmth hugs me tightly and the morning breeze runs through my long black hair. The chorus of birds flocking in the blue sky. As I walk up the little hill to her gravestone, I pass the baby boy that lays beside her. His old, dirty gray gravestone in a heart shape with his name engraved in between a ribbon. His bright,

“Uh, yeah! Sure!” When I knew I was l alone I ran all over town looking for the source of the snow. I finally found it at an abandoned warehouse just outside of town. I waited a couple of seconds before saying something but before I could, someone spoke.

The dark air began to weep as he sat there and faced the ordinary gravestone. Mother nature seemed to feel the pain that rocked deep in his bones every minute of everyday. The whistling and russling of the air as the leaves jumped through the cemetery rang in his ears. “Huh.” he snickered. Ash of the thick cigar fell fiercely towards the stone.

I slipped beneath the surface of the pool of grain, my hands sticking straight up over my head as I held my breath, preparing for death. I was preparing for the world to go silent. This was the exact situation my father had warned me about, and I had fallen victim to it despite that. Fourteen years old as of two months ago, and death had already come for me. Or so I thought. I felt firm, callused hands grasp my own, plucking me from my grave. The relief was wonderful. I drank the air in, filling my burning lungs with as much as possible. I almost laughed out of sheer happiness – until my eyes met my father’s.

I walked towards the Bleeding Heart Cemetery. The cool October wind blew against my frame, making me wish I wore a coat. I readjusted my grip on my oxygen tank. As I neared Augustus’ grave, the sun light captured the diamond ring Isaac gave me. My stomach flopped upside down. Although the wedding is in 2 weeks, I still felt unsure. I mean, who in their right minds marries their dead boyfriend’s best friend? I slipped the ring into my jean pocket. I located Augustus’ grave and sat down. I felt my stomach churn, realizing I haven’t visited him in months.

The day was gloomy and a bit chilly−a perfect day for a funeral if that was possible−as she sat on the folding chair staring at the bronze casket a few feet from her. Ruth recalled while growing up her grandfather always treated her special and they shared many good times. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she wanted to smile knowing shortly her grandfather would be laid to rest beside the love of his life, her grandmother. Since his heart attack she had visited him daily at the Mountaineer Nursing Home. He told her stories about the ghost on Putney Mountain, the loud screams in the day and the lights at night. Sometimes he talked about the secrets of Howardsville and promised one day he would divulge them to her. However, he passed away before

My eyes scanned the sunlit grave yard. So many people had turned up to say goodbye to Clyde, there were a lot of faces I didn't recognise. It was easier to look at them.

Abbey would stay with our father while I had some much needed time away. If she was unable to, the visiting hospice nurse accompanied his needs. The hours I spent at a bunch of graves would appear obsessive to some, but it was comforting to be near even if it was at gravestones. Perhaps it was a way to connect with Calvin, despite the reality of his death. Visiting his stone, keeping the lots maintained; all of these factors, as trivial as they were, helped with my grief. A minor part of me felt foolish, while the majority indispensably embraced this without

Passing the Fernwood sign, as I approach her gravesite early morning before work on 7/10/15 at 6:30 AM. I drive up an uneven gravel driveway dodging the grooves, looking at the back mirror noticing the dust my back tires are kicking up. The feeling of crunch vibrating off my tires, as the feeling you get when you are getting a massage on the nail salon massage chair. Just the calm vibration running from your toes to the fingers on the steering wheel. The grooves freshly filled with water from the rain the night before. Driving past the rusted looking water pumps used to feed the plants. Looking through window, noticing all different flowers laying on individual gravestone. Some vary from fake flowers but most are real freshly bloomed flowers,

Currently, she was at the local cemetery, where all around, freshly fallen snow twinkled and glistened on the once green ground. The pale gray pathway had been shoveled, however, so that people could get around the cemetery easily. Mrs. Ferguson was listening attentively to the pastor, who was describing Mr. Ferguson’s life. Only Mr. Ferguson’s close family had been invited to attend the funeral, so they all knew every detail of his life, but it was common practice to read it all anyways.

The cemetery was a dark and decrepit place. The bushes were overgrown and weeds spewed out from cracks in the pavement. The sun wasn’t out that day, there were only grey clouds that matched our grey faces. We didn’t often go to the cemetery, the idea of haints lurking about was enough to keep even the most adventurous of us away from there. We listened dully to the drone of the priest’s chant and only stood up straight when he finished solemnly, “We therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.”

However, tonight was slightly different there was a feeling of emptiness within me that only jasper could fill, but he was know where to be seen. As I walked towards the smooth grey eucalyptus that presided over the small dam on the far side, I peered into the broad hallow space at its base where I knew Jasper stayed. But there was no sign of jasper or even the slightest amount of evidence that he had been here. I felt my body shatter for what felt like the millionth time tonight as the tears started to fall down my cheeks, I didn’t know how much more I could take before I simply couldn’t handle this anymore. As I sat slumped along the water’s edge with my head on my knees, I felt betrayed and heartbroken. Jasper Jones was really gone, he had left me and gone to the city by himself, a plan that we were meant to do together. I was distressed, filled with anger and heartbreak. He had broken his promise. But the truth is what hurt me the most, I thought he loved me, I thought what we had was real, but I was wrong. Tonight was going to be the night I tell him everything, the night I was going to beg him to leave with me. Because I was in trouble. I couldn’t do this alone. I needed him more than ever but he wasn’t there. As these thoughts kept running through my head I begin to write it down. One way or another

This Cemetery was one of the biggest ones in Richmond. So it made sense for people to get lost in a place that had almost the same style grave stones everywhere. I always looked for the big black bolder like rock that always marked my spot. "There it is". I walked over to it and started counting. One, the first grave had black roses. Two, the second grave had black roses. Three, the third grave had black roses. Four, "Here it is". I brushed off the grave and set down the roses oh so gently. I crouched down on my knees , with my head held high, looking deep into the grey dim sky. A tear ran down my face that

John sat at the foot of the grave, watching the sun slowly set behind the headstone as he had done ever evening for the best part of four months. Usually, he wept once the sun had set, but for now the tears did not come. He murmured into the grass, so quietly that he himself scarcely heard the sounds – the plea’s. Then the tears came, slowly at first, one or two escaping him eyes and trailing down his face. He tasted their saltiness on his lips, and wept, head in his hands.

The second visit was more strained and planned and deliberate. It was after the evening at the river where she had sat so close to me, while my arms held fast the ground. We snuck away, taking the car for a couple of hours without asking. It wasn't hot but I didn't have many days left; maybe one or two. We did it so I could dunk myself once more in memoriam. And then she didn't even swim. It was a disappointingly mild day, the sky even a bit grey. I climbed along