Got this little critter down to exactly 100 words for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers writing prompt.
PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
There is a feeling of late autumn in the air, of the year rolling into its winter sleep, wrapped in the fallen leaf memories of the summer. The rosemary, symbol of remembrance is stiff with frost, and not a breath of wind stirs the dry leaves piled in drifts about the headstone.
We remember who lies beneath, and we don’t forgive. We gather here every year to celebrate his finally being put where he belongs, but this year, something is wrong. The earth has moved, the headstone shifted. There are fissures in the frost-hard ground.
And the date is midsummer.