Buried Story

She reached into her pocket, digging around for a small light and something to suffocate herself with. Her fingers wrapped around the small lighter and small box.

Her hand moved up, cupping the small flame from the nipping breeze. The lighter pushed out the small flame against her cigarette.

The end lighting, a small orange glow in the gray. She took a long drag, letting the smoke fill her, before breathing it out her nose.

She pulled the cigarette away from her mouth before letting it dangle from her fingers at her side. Her steps shuffled against the cobble stone, with wisps of smoke trailing behind her.

The small glow from the filter being the only light, along with her own heart being the only beating one within a mile.

She lifted the cigarette back to her lips as she looked down at the cobble. It was smoothed down, from years of steps and drops pelting down on it, she wasn't sure if the drops were from the sky or the kind that fell from tear ducts.

The smooth cobble turned into grass. Green and lush, in a place filled with nothing but old stories six feet below.

She let the smoke fill her before stepping onto the grass, following the familiar path. She didn't need any lamp or even the moon to tell her where she should step.

Her eyes shifted from the grass to the sky, dark and lightless. She didn't need the moon and his judging light tonight, or the blasted stars to snitch on her to the heavens.

Her shoes dragged along the grass, as she lifted the cigarette back up to her lips.

Letting it fill her again.

The grass shifted into damp dirt, dark and fresh… so rich, she could imagine flowers wanting to take root and grow over the old story below.

She stopped in front of the fresh dirt, her shoes just on the edge where grass met rich black soil. She didn't let her eyes shift to the stone, or to the carved letters and numbers. She knew what was carved onto the smooth stone.

She pressed the cigarette back to her lips, her lips twitching against the small warmth.

Letting that smoke suffocate her.

Her eyes searched the rich dirt, pulling the cigarette away from her lips. She felt herself start to move, bath and forth in front of the stone.

“Don't look at me like that.” She snapped at the stone, not daring to look at it.

Her breath leaving small white puffs without the cigarettes help.

“I know you hated the smell, said it would kill me first, and I'd say ‘we'll see’... Well! Guess I was right.” She chuckled dryly.

Her steps moved quicker in front of the gray stone, turning back and forth. Not letting her footsteps drag, and not touching the dirt, her hands moving upward.

One hand moving to her hair as she gripped it at the roots, the other bringing the cigarette closer. The smoke filling the air, the nipping breeze stealing it away.

“I was right… And I never got the chance to rub it in your face. You're such an asshole, never letting me have the win”

The tip of her nose burned, her vision blurring before she wiped her face. Her hand releasing the roots of her head, falling to her side.

“Look what you did now… Got me acting a fool.”

Her steps continued to walk, back and forth, pressing the grass down into the ground like a game trail.

She took a shaky drag before looking back at the dirt.

“You can't be too mad at me… Right? It's better than the stuff I was smoking before….right?”

Her bottom lip shook before she sucked it in her mouth and bit down, stopping the shaking.

The small orange glow hanging between her fingers, fluttered in the breeze. Her eyes shifted from the dirt and to the grass below her.

Maybe it was drops from the sky that fell, no way could the salty drops that fell from tear ducts make something so lush and green. She thought bitterly, nearly biting down on the tobacco filled paper between her lips.

Her steps slowed, dragging slightly.

“Do you like it here? Are the neighbors good?” she choked on her laugh as she looked at the smooth stones on either side.

They were older, no fresh soil resting on top. The old stories below had let the lush grass grow on top of them… but no flowers rooted, just wilting ones laid in front of carved stone.

She couldn’t look at the stone in front of her, couldn’t meet the carved words that meant something more than words could do justice.

She couldn’t look at the numbers, couldn't look at the four numbers that had meant the beginning or the last four that meant the end.

She sucked the smoke in, wanting it to suffocate her.

The space between the first four starting and the last four was not enough… it didn’t and wouldn't ever feel like the story six feet below got the time it deserved.

She let her knees hit the ground, jeans soaking in the dampness from the rich dirt.

Her eyes glancing back at the wilted flower at the stones near by before back at the rich soil beneath her.

“I couldn't decide what flower would have been best… I swear it wasn't me being cheap…. I just had gotten to the store-”

She lifted the cigarette back to her lips, before letting the small orange glow lower.

“You know the one… The store we used to get mom's favorite brand of shampoo that smelled like mango…”

she wiped at her face.

“I just… I had gone to the section of the store covered in plants. Plenty of flowers that had probably filled a greenhouse at some point.” She took a shaky drag, her the damp ground seeping into her jeans.

“And then I was asked what type of flowers I wanted… and I just saw all the options. There were so many and- and I panicked.”

she choked on her words.

“You would have laughed, said I was over thinking things, but I just..just.. Couldn’t find the right ones for you. You know…”

She paused as the cigarette continued to burn.

“You knew I was never good at giving gifts, I was better at spending time, but now…”

The tip of her nose burned hotter, her vision blurred.

She let the cigarette drop onto the damp soil, near her jeans. The salty drops fell down her cheeks onto the ground before she wiped her face. She didn't want them to stop the lush grass from growing someday.

“Please don't be mad…” she choked out, palms falling onto the damp soil that still hadn't had its time to settle. Her fingers digging into the rich soil that she believed deserved better than being poisoned by her own tear ducts.

The small orange light died against the ground, she finally looked up at the stone…no. The grave.

Her eyes traced the carved letters on the grave, a name that held so much more than vowels and consonants. Then moved down to the dates. They couldn't tell the story that lay six feet below.

The nipping breeze brushed against her flushed cheeks. She sat back on her heels, her hands moving to wipe her face, leaving small muddy streaks against her cheeks.

She reached into her pocket, fingers searching before grabbing a hold of a small baggy.

Something that would take root, she sprinkled it over the dark soil before pushing herself up to her feet.

Her steps shuffled away from the small game trail she made on the grass, and on to the smooth cobble.

She didn't need a lamp or the moon to light her way, but it would have felt nice now that she didn't know where she was going.