It was bullshit.
Bullshit.
Not that he was expecting anything grander, but still.
Bullshit.
The word echoed rhythmically through his mind as he stabbed the earth repeatedly with the shovel that was digging splinters into his already calloused palms, shoving his booted foot against the edge of the metal dipper and flinging the dry Indiana soil over his aching shoulder.
Bullshit stab Bullshit shove Bullshit fling Bullshit -
For Chrissakes, not a fucking epitaph. Not a goddamn Bible verse. Not even any of that half-assed gone-but-not-forgotten crap.
He glanced up, squinting at the tiny concrete cross that was bent slightly at an angle towards the unkempt ground, a few feet above him - he was already in pretty deep, at least a few feet, not far to go now, unless the six-feet-under thing was also bullshit and he'd never reach the coffin, never, because when the fuck did things ever go his way?
William Bruce Bailey
1962 - 1979
He wanted to scream, but instead he raised the shovel and whacked the rusty metal against the piece of shit excuse for a headstone. His arm screamed, the resounding clang sliced behind his eyes, and the headstone broke and thudded quietly onto the ground, somewhere out of his sight. He froze, then shrugged.
What'd I say. Bullshit.
Sweat dripped stickily into his eyes and he could feel the sun clawing through his hair into his scalp, melting through his shirt and sliding languorously over the skin of his back, and his forearms and shoulders were on fire and that was also bullshit, but he'd made a promise, he'd made a promise that he would do this and Izzy Stradlin was a man of his word, and Axl didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve the bullshit cross and the bullshit burial and the bullshit fucking execution and it wasn't just sweat in his eyes anymore and shut the fuck up Stradlin, strap on your balls and get on with it otherwise we'll be here till New Years'.
Blinking until his eyes were clear again, he coughed once. He thought of the water in his car, two large plastic bottles of Coke filled with tap water that he'd shoved into the freezer the night before. Their contents still consisted mostly of ice, now probably melting slowly in the stifling midday heat. Closing his eyes, he imagined the translucent droplets of condensation slipping slowly down the outside of the bottle, paving clear cracks down the cloudy film of moisture, like raindrops down a dirty window. His hand clenched around the shovel.
Fuck that. I'll drink when I'm done finding this piece of shit coffin.
His lips were dry, so he licked them, feeling sharp curls of dead skin poking against his tongue. He tore off a tendril with his teeth, tasting the bitter copper of blood, savouring the sting of hot pain. He spat upwards, aiming towards where the piece of shit headstone used to be before he'd broken it, and then he turned abruptly back and attacked the soil. The fucking soil that was clogging up his nostrils, and settling grittily into his eyeballs, rolling dryly down his throat and burrowing under his fingernails and this was bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.
********
"Bullshit."
Izzy shrugged. "Fine, don't believe me."
He resumed burrowing through the dirt with his hands, the shovel thrown to the side, ignoring the disapproving frown on Billy's face, relishing the feel of the hot earth falling through his sweaty fingers. "I'm telling you, I know what I'm doing. It's somewhere here, OK, and when I find it - "
"You're not gonna find a freaking thing, Izz, and you know it. And your mom's gonna have kittens when she gets back and sees what we've done to her backyard." Billy groaned. "We're both gonna get in trouble, and here I've been trying to stay on my dad's good side - "
"Your dad is not gonna find out, Billy, chill," Izzy interrupted, rolling his eyes. "And say he does, what's the big deal? I'm sure he was eight years old once too, you know. He must have played at least once in his lifetime."
He grinned at the doubtful expression on his friend's face. "What, you think he was a Bible-bashing church-freak with grey hair when he came out of his mama's coochie?"
