Frosted leaves with their delicate ice buds sparkle in the brilliant wintry light, for there is no weather today, no wind, no clouds. The slippery path glistens like white quartz, and I wonder at the irony of all this beauty over everything dead. Spotting his headstone I pause, my breath rising in rapid puffs, and I have to remind myself that he is gone. “You will always be mine,” he had said, right before the day of the fatal car crash. Sadly the break wires had snapped.
I close the gap between us and then I see the rails put up beside him, around the freshly dug open grave. “O honey, you’re getting company,” I say.
The idea suddenly strikes. I step across the rails, taking out the greasy gloves I needed to dispose. Down they go.
“I told you. You will always be mine,” I hear Frank hiss behind me. Startled, my foot slips and I’m falling. My head hits something and then…
In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, 115th Challenge
Photo prompt by loniangraphics