Burial - A 100 Word Story
July 02, 2009 flash fictionThe rain patters cold on my shoulders, the post hole digger, the body of the bird wrapped gently in a Sponge Bob pillowcase. Sarah's soft sobs are muffled by Martha's torso, my daughter's arms tightly wrapped around her mother.
I am finishing when Sarah touches me, the last clod softly packed down with my booted foot.
"Daddy, is Heaven something like Margaritaville?"
I look at Martha; her look away and the mention of Bob's favorite song says more than a strange man's jeans in the wash.
"No," I say, crying with her as Martha goes inside, "It's nothing like that."