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Weekly Contest #65
I feared graveyards. Not their “ghosts”. In the deadness and the stillness, the dead were not really “gone” to me. Walking alone in a graveyard, I feared being chased by a human assailant more than a ghost. There was always the possibility, not matter how slim, of tumbling headlong into a recently dug grave. Or interrupting a funeral. I prayed, silently as a precaution should we pass one. Someone told me (maybe as a warning, maybe poking fun at my fear), “You never know what can follow you home.” For Memorial Day, we always went to put flo...
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