The Tomb

The old Dodge melded with the ferns and undergrowth, the rusty metal molted with green moss. Determined underbrush tied it to the ground, and it stared at me with long dead eyes. Faded glass eyes that told me everything. The breath stuck in my throat as I fought my way to my daddy’s tomb. 

Briars, like tiny claws scratched and tried to block my way, but my bloodied hands felt no pain. Tears finally swelled as I remembered the last day I’d seen him. That sunny morning sixty-six years ago. He’d tousled my hair, and told me; “Son, moss don’t grow on no rolling stone.” I hadn’t realized he was shut of life. I just knew he was never coming back. 



Filed under flash fiction

2 responses to “The Tomb

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s