Today’s writing prompt and my response.
Prompt three for this week. Use the prompts however you like, one at a time, poetry or prose; or pen a short story over several of them.
They gathered at the graveside
The day was aptly bleak as they gathered at the graveside. Rolling grey clouds, drifting snowflakes, a chill wind. Suzy wore her heavy jacket, warm leggings, boots, gloves, and a hat pulled low over her head.
Standing beside her mother, she peered into the gaping hole in the frozen earth: long and deep, narrow.
A shiver of excitement ran down her spine as her father tossed a clod of clay soil into the grave. This was Suzy’s first time, and the thrill of being here sent little trills through her stomach.
‘Eighteen,’ her mother said, swallowing a sob. She wiped tears away with a damp tissue.
Suzy sniffed in false sympathy. It was sad, she guessed. But every cloud had a silver lining. She tugged at her mother’s coat.
‘When do we get a dog?’ She hid her grin behind her scarf. ‘You promised, Mummy, once the cat died, we could have a dog.’
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They gathered at the graveside, the site long overgrown with weeds. It obviously had been many years since anyone had bothered to visit and the grey headstone had weathered to such an extent that the writing was almost illegible.
“Long time since we’ve bothered to gather,” muttered old Tom, now well in his 80s, and the others nodded their heads in sage agreement.
“She were a great woman,” he went on. “Aye, that she were,” they all chorused, as if any dissension was out of the question.
Edith May McGovern, mother to the assembled group, a tiny woman with a fierce determination to care for and protect her large family – all 10 sons and daughters – despite the fact that her husband was a violent drunk who beat her every chance he got.
Despite the physical beatings and constant bruising, she never complained and went about her daily chores with a cheerfulness that belied her treacherous situation.
Their dad had been a big man – six foot four in his socks – and while kind and considerate when sober, became an absolute brute once the liquor passed his lips.
“She didn’t deserve what happened to her,” said Tom and, once more, they all bobbed their heads.
It had been a dark, stormy night – the windswept rain lashing the house incessantly as the children readied for bed by the light of flickering candles.
Suddenly, the front door burst open and Dad was standing there soaking wet, drunk as usual.
Standing at the kitchen sink, their mother looked at him with undisguised disgust before turning her back to tend to her brood.
“Don’t you turn your back on me, woman,” he roared as he lurched towards her.
To this day the children didn’t know how, but a large knife magically protruded from his chest and he fell to the floor with blood pouring from his mouth, stone cold dead.
Of course, the police never believed it was an accident. Edith was subsequently found guilty of murder and sentenced to life behind bars.
The group surveyed the graveside once more, their mother’s name and details now almost impossible to decipher.
“She were a great woman,” Tom muttered once again. “She didn’t deserve to die in prison.”
“No, that she didn’t,” they all agreed sadly.
She would be hailed a hero these days! Tho maybe prison was a holiday camp compared to her life til then.
Hilarious. How apt!!
And perfectly true. She also did the thing I thought was only in horror movies, asking a few weeks later what Ben (the cat) would look like now if we dug him up…