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Burial - A 100 Word Story

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The 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."

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