Well, with it being that time of year for these types of stories I thought to revisit a short bit from last year, one I have posted before in a couple of spots and one that started with a dVerse Poets “prosery” prompt from June of 2024 and also to liberally revise the second part to it that, truthfully, I had forgotten I had written …
//////////////////////////////////////////
June 4, 2024
A prosery challenge at dVerse Poets
A very short piece of poetry or flash fiction that tells a story, just one with a limit of 144 words, but, somewhere within your story, includes a line from a poem
Here?
From Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Sleeper”
I pray to God that she may lie
Forever with unopened eye
//////////////////////////////////////////
Headstone
In a graveyard nearing dusk the groundskeeper came upon Death, leaning heavily upon his knot gnarl anguish handled scythe as he knelt at an almost hidden, fallen stone, shunned, just outside the cemetery, alone, at the edge of a large forest. He wept quietly.
“Are you alright old man?”
Death was startled
“What?!” as he tried to stand
“No need. Pay your respects”
“Why don’t you shudder, cold, at the sight of me, cringe, run to escape who I am, maybe to you?”
“I know death. I have been here as long as you have searched … for your mother right? How did you know?”
“I had this inscribed in her stone, I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye hoping she would never see my shame and what I had become and wrought”
The groundskeeper said “Let’s walk my friend” …
//////////////////////////////////////////
Then I thought to continue the story …
//////////////////////////////////////////
October 19, 2024 (revised) October 3, 2025
The Walk
The groundskeeper walked his headstone common with Death alongside.
“I knew her, I was there, she begged me not to, not just yet
I knew him too, he was an ass, he was having an affair and was found out with a jealous bullet … I assisted the trigger
This one wanted to experience the sadness of flying, I gave her a bit of a nudge while the crowd scattered below
He here? He was a case of life unexpectedly cut short … on a Tuesday I think, an unusually busy Tuesday if I remember too
Pointing “That one over there was an unfortunate result of small minds but …
This one was a way back where they marked doors and wore masks… some of those scared even me, I really had my bones full then
And whole sections in the distance there the result of religious fervor …”
“STOP!” as the groundskeeper came to a halt looking directly at and through Death with a chill
“What?” Death paused, shrunk a little, actually, finally frightened
“We’re just walking here, so stop.”
“But? …”
“You know all of them, of course, I, we all are well aware of that. Jobs are jobs. You have yours, though your glibness is wearing me very thin, and you don’t want that, you REALLY do not want that, but I have mine … look to the distance, the Lily fields that surround us here? This is my keep and all that lay in it away from you, at last, but also for all those who come now or have in the past, their memories just wisps scattered to the Lilies, to pay respects or seek absolution, to mourn or even rejoice in some cases, to just be seen or wish to only blend into and under the grass as well or to apologize for being late for someone’s birthday.
To come here, for most of them, is just to sit and wonder and talk to the wind as if their words can be carried, wisped away to other places by it to be heard somewhere in it
That is Angie, talking to her dad
Those are flowers left by Peter who feels better now even though he was an awful son and knows he hastened his father’s death
That is Bart, off to the left, who comes here only because he feels if he doesn’t he will lose whatever semblance of sanity he has left
That’s Michelle, after years away, who feels that wiping off the dust and grime and dirt of time will somehow make everything alright
Then there is Thomas, who I truly feel for, his loss that just destroyed him as that headstone is the last, only, thing he has left in whatever it was that tied him in this, his world. She was, under that stone, the only person that kept him safe in his differences.
Know that your job has consequences”
“But what are we to do?”
“Nothing, we can do nothing, but we can have a little respect. I take comfort in some genuine words spoke at knelt stone, when there are some, when loss is so profound that it brings a tear to even this old groundskeeper’s eye”
“This is what you do?”
“It is, but I don’t fault you for doing what YOU do. Now stand …”
“But I don’t even remember having knelt”
“… use that scythe for balance and stand up from your creaky knees and bony fingers and let’s go over to that corner and to Maribel”
“Maribel? Who … Maribel … is she?”
“No, leave her be, she has time, still has a daughter to come, but she sings, she even extols YOUR virtues”
“Me? MY virtues?”
“She sings of what is done and understands, as do I, though in a lesser chord, as I am no singer, and in such a glorious voice”
“Her loss?”
“It is of no matter, she just comes here, twice a week, sometimes more, to sing of all our losses, just sings along with the trees and the breezes and wisps of what was once of seas and suns and moons that drown and pass and of short lived birds sung in pretty flights above us all through the stones underneath her feet that look out over the hills at this place, all of these places, that are as one as they always have been, are here as intended to be stretching to the Lily’s”
“Oh my, is that heaven?’
“Could be, I don’t know, not sure”
“You said she still has a daughter to come?” Death remarked with a glint.
“STOP!! Were tears for your Mother back there even real?
“Moment of weakness I guess”
“ENOUGH!! You know, my expanse can include you, death can die, if I will it and then cover it in grass and Lily fields in the all encompassing distance, but for you? the Lily’s will wilt. There will be another to fill your shoes, if need be, it just won’t be you, gone at your own bones arrogance”.
frankenberrysattic.com 