Short Stories

Please Don't Forget Me

As the father removed the last inch of gravel and dirt from the four feet hole, he sighed shakily and wiped away sweat and tears. He climbed out and eagerly drank from his water before sitting down with a stone tablet on his laps and starting to chisel. The mother was occupying herself by dressing her two-year old daughter in an innocently beautiful white dress. The mother brushed her daughter's golden curled hair before laying her down in a wooden crib. She looked into her deep blue eyes before closing them and breaking down in tears. When the father came back, he looked at Hus sleeping daughter and couldn't stop the tears that fell. The father picked up the crib and carried it towards the hole he had dug with the mother close behind carrying the wooden lid and the hammer and nails. The father placed the crib on the soft grass next to the hole, they sealed the crib, and the father lowered it into the grave. When they finished their prayers, they buried their daughter. The father hammered the tombstone in place and upon it, was inscribed, "Here lies Sophie St. Clair, 1812-1814, an innocent victim of the Bubonic Plague." When the father finished, the mother placed brilliantly blue forget-me-nots on her grave. After a few hours, a priest came and began to pray for the dead. When he had finished, he pulled the father aside and asked, "How did you manage this?"

"When you don't have much for so long, you learn to make do with what you have."

"Well, at least you didn't have to carry a heavy casket."

"Oh, no, Father." He sighed, "The smallest coffins are the heaviest."

The mother and father wiped away their tears, gingerly stroked the tombstone, and walked towards their home. The priest spoke one last prayer before heading back towards the church with a heavy heart and a tear threatning to fall.