Graveyard Boy ✞

☾

"Isn't that the gravedigger's brat?"

"Don't get too close, I heard he hears the voices of the dead."

"He smells terrible."

Joseph was no stranger to the townfolks' whispers, nor was he unfamiliar with bruises gained from rocks thrown at him. Both words and stones hurt him just as much, but he doesn't dare stand up for himself. Instead continuing to work as they whisper and hurl insults behind his back.

It isn't too bad, they all go away... he looks over his shoulder, only to be hit by a pebble. ...eventually. The boy does his best to ignore them, focusing on finishing the grave he was tasked to do.

More often than not, quite almost everyday, the lad aches. Not from the stones nor words, but because he had no one to talk to or anyone to hear his cry.

He was alone.

——— ⚰︎ ———

A shadow covers his eyes as he out blocked the shimmers of the afternoon sun. Picking up his (quite worn out) shovel and sliding on his gloves, he looks down to avoid the disgusted stares of the townspeople as he makes his way to the graveyard.

He knew the route like the back of his hand, arriving within only minutes. He sighs as he was met with the same old tombstones and somber atmosphere, but he notices something out of place.

A visitor.

It wasn't anything unusual, people come by to pay their respects and leave soon after (not before sending annoyed looks his way). Letting out a subtle sigh, he strides over to the patch of dirt that was next to yesterday's work, passing by the kneeled visitor.

Without a hint of hesitation, Joseph clutches the shovel with both of his hands and plunges it down. As he starts to build a pit, the lad takes a curious glance at the person, taking notice of how they blankly stared at the headstone.

The person blinks, their [eye/color] hues now suddenly meeting his livid blue ones. He immediately looks down, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He would apologize, but he feared for same reaction that he received the last time he had.

And so, the lad carries on with his work with slight guilt.

Though the person's gaze did not leave his figure when he did, continuing to watch his every move. He was used to it—the stares—but their gaze was more intense than the kind he had been used to. It made him uneasy, his hands getting sweaty were proof of that.

It didn't help that this carried on for what felt like an eternity, a weird and awkward tension lingering in the air for a few hours. He was close to finishing until the person stands and finally speaks, which the boy subconsciously feared.

"You..."

Joseph halts for a moment, mentally preparing for harsh and bitter words. Even if he had heard every possible remark from those around him, he finds himself still feeling scared of being judged.

What are they going to say this time? He already feels his heart clench as he waits for the person's insult, unconsciously holding his shovel close.

. . .

"...Thank you for your hard work."

...huh? Joseph lifts his head in surprise, d-did I hear that right?

The person turns away before he could even catch a glimpse of their expression, he could only see their [hair/color] locks sway when a breeze passes by and their silhouette that was highlighted by the hues of the setting sun.

They walked away as Joseph could only watch, dumbfounded.