The suns rays peaking over the mountains in the distance, the remaining towns people behind me, dressed in their funeral colors. Black, grey, or white.
The sky was dim, the clouds not letting much light through before the day went from a sunrise orange to a wash of grey.
Three days of blessings and embalming, or by the request of some, cremation. Blanton stood behind me, wearing a clean black suit and tie, black sunglasses that completely covered his tired brown eyes.
I knew the last few days have been hard for him, it would be hard for anyone. He helped the entire time with the cleaning and embalming process. He even shed a few tears for the victims.
I stood a meter in front of him, dressed in black long wide leg pants, a simple black silk button up that was tucked into the waistband, and simple black boots. My hat secured atop my head, the end of the hat swinging against the back of my thighs, both of us stood on the cliff over looking what would eventually be a grave yard.
Hundred and hundred of bodies, laid next to their open graves, wrapped head to toe in cotton like mummies. It stretched as far as it could, and behind the crowd of grieving families stood news reporters and photographers. More vans pulling up to capture the pain filled morning.
Publicizing grief. How dare they!
"We should do this with quickly so they don't make a spectacle." I grumble annoyed at their presence.
"No respect." Blanton muttered.
We descend the cliff and meet the group in front.
"What do we do?" A weepy eyed civilian asked me but I had no answer. No good one at least. Thankfully Blanton stepped up.
"There are resources being sent to your pack, but there are others willing to open their doors and accept you. Alpha Joaquin has extending the invitation to his pack, he understands the situation and is willing to help. He can accept all of you!" Blanton smiling tensely at them.
I eye him as he comforts them, but I don't linger long and turn my attention to the cadavers.
With a resigned sigh, I open the book. Beads rolling through my fingers as I slowly began to read their last rites. The chant rolling off the tongue, memory feeding my words. I didn't need the book, but GrimFather always held it during these rituals. Walking slowly down the middle of the graveyard as I read. The first row of bodies levitating softly off the ground, silencing the growing murmurs of the crowd as each of the wrapped bodies floated slowly over their open graves and lowered themselves in.
As I walked the next row followed suit, floating down into their eternal bed. Then it was the next row.
Reading and walking and soon enough I was at the other side of the graveyard. My shovel buried headfirst into the ground sticking out of the earth, marking the end of the reading. I turn back around to see the crowd gathered on the other side silently watching me.
There's never usually an audience for these things.
Dropping the book and beads on the ground, I grab hold of the handle and yank the shovel out of the ground. And in one fluid motion, I jam the shovel back into the dirt. The ground behind to shake, the tremors shaking everyone and everything around me, and row by row the graves behind to fill on their own.
The crowd in the distance couldn't keep themselves up with how hard the ground was shaking, but it didn't last long.
Dirt covering everything until there was nothing but flat barren land and almost in moments, it's as if they bodies were never there. The ground stopped shaking, and everything was still, quiet.
YOU ARE READING
Grave Digger
Hombres LoboElias spent years as a grave digger putting loved ones to rest. It's the only thing she's ever known ever since she was a kid. Over the years she's learned about other people's grief, their pain, how six feet can seem so far away for so many people...
