That evocative name? What was it? Who was it? I couldn't recall.
Louder, please? Could you say it louder? I can't hear it through your whispers. Are you doing it on purpose? Why are you?
It's futile, the depth is just beyond my touch.
Give me a minute or two, I'll be back with a flashlight and shovel. Who knows I might have memories buried underground. Maybe that way, I'll be able to remember who that name was.
But hold on,
Why would I do that?
YOU ARE READING
Grave Roses
General FictionI'll come back with roses to lay on your grave. Perhaps, someday, the voices will leave.
