VISUAL PROMPT

by Florentina Amon @ deviantart.com/Tiina23

Write a story or poem inspired by this image. What themes and atmospheres come to mind?

Family Cemetery

It’s too dark. He shouldn’t have to be in the dark. It’s scary and cold and he doesn’t deserve that.


Lighting two candles, all that I can carry, I make my way out the front door to the little family cemetery. Jack had wanted to fix it up. Said his family should spend eternity in comfort. He’d cleaned the rock wall, then all the head stones. Planting flowers all around the green plot, instead of cutting them.


The most flowers were around Dad’s grave.


Placing the two candles on Jack’s grave, the knot in my chest lightens. But now dads grave is dark and cold. I run back up the the house, stumbling on the big oak’s roots and slicing my hand. No problem, I’ll deal with it later.


I light two more candles and hurry back, setting them on Dad’s grass grave. Jack’s is still covered with dirt.


Finally, I feel like I can breathe again.


Wait—it’s dark in the caskets. Why do we bury them like that? During a blink, I find myself on hands and knees digging my hands into the dirt pulling it away. It’s so cold in the ground, it makes my digging more frantic. He must be freezing—and Dad! My fingers curl into the grass pulling it.


I let out a demented yell as I try to pull the ground off them. It’s crushing them.


My fingers get dirty and bloody but I can’t stop. Tearing the Earth away from the ground. One of the candles is askew, laying on its side, the tiny flame extinguished, which makes me irrationally angry.


Can’t I do anything right?


“Maria,” a voice calls gently. I whip around manically to see Oliver with his hands up. His face flickering in the tiny light. “Maria, are you alright?” He almost whispers and it’s like cold water is dumped on my head.


“Sorry, I—“ I look at my bloodied hands and he sucks in a harsh breath.


“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” I’d never heard a man speak so gently.

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