Don't Weep At My Tombstone Novels & Stories

They were silent and stone-faced, their breath ghosting in the chill air. I did not cry. I thought I would, but the grief had burned itself hollow. All I could do was press the pendant into the earth beside her and whisper a thank-you no one heard. When the last clump of soil fell, Warren placed a flat river stone over the mound. There were no words and no ceremony, only that small gesture. His hand lingered on the stone for a second longer than it should have. Then he straightened and gave the order to move out.

Noah didn’t know how long he stood there looking at the grave. He didn’t speak, and neither did Sterling. It was obvious Sterling had hired a professional. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on the stone, not a blade of grass out of place. It looked just like it did when she was buried here, like time had frozen in a single moment of grace. Cared for better than any other headstone in the cemetery. It was eerie. Beautiful. A lie.

The cold felt honest. My brother’s headstone stood three paces away. Simple gray slab, his name carved deep, no fancy dates, no epitaph. He hated ceremonies, he always said if he died young he wanted to be left where the world couldn’t dress him up in marble lies. So I buried him here, in the hollow where we used to skip stones across the creek, where we’d lie on our backs and talk about everything except the future our parents had already sold us into. I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my thighs, and stared at the name until the letters blurred.

I don’t need him to, but I am trying to be accommodating. There’s not really a building that the whole pack can fit into at once right now. They have a big huge building in the works for gatherings of the whole pack when outside isn’t doable. However, we are at the picnic grounds we were at the other day for all of this bullshit. Actually I think this is easier, not having to worry about getting blood stains out of the flooring. I said that and freaked out Greyson, and I felt bad about that.

As the shovels came next, scooping dirt and tossing it over the casket, the finality of it hit me like a bullet to the chest. Thud. Another scoop. Thud. And another. The sound of dirt hitting the wood was unbearable. I wanted to scream. To crawl into that grave and take her place. To rewind time to that stupid night—to prom—and do everything differently. But it was too late. She was gone. And no amount of regret, no ocean of apologies, would ever bring her back. The last scoop of dirt fell. The grave was filled. A headstone stood already in place, carved too quickly, too cruelly:

It would be too painful to know if no one attended their burial. The smell of devastation lingers in the air, accompanied by the faint smell of wet soil and rain. The atmosphere is thick with melancholy as if a heavy cloud of grief continuously hangs over the entire cemetery. It’s a chilling day. The sort of day that drills deep into your bones, marking you forever as it licks and nips all over your trembling flesh. I stand like a statue, my gaze fixated on Nate’s pristine coffin with gold handles. A few people surround us, people I haven’t seen before, and I’m uncertain if Quenten has organized the small gathering of people, so I won’t feel heartbroken that no one showed up to farewell Nate

It is as if the man who sired John Wayne Gacy suddenly bursts into tears of regret and guilt. It doesn’t fit. I look around at the crowd full of red-eyed adults. Crying for the loss of a young one. It just doesn’t fit. And as I look around, I realize … the stones scattered through the grass, each one a marker for someone who should still be alive. Except for Derick and Sophia — not one of the others is taken by time, or illness, or even chance. Every single one ripped out of life by violence. So again … it doesn’t fit. None of it is right. Not the stones. Not the grief. Not the tears of men who never cry.

Was it because this is father and grandfather’s tomb? I reached in front of it and stood looking at the tombstone facing me written in the ancient Lycan figures reading ‘Eternal Reign of Don Tal Kingston.’ The words were not clear due to the moss growing around it and the frost flower covering some bit of it. I knelt in front of the tombstone and tore off the plants growing around it. I plucked off the moss and used my handkerchief to dust off whatever was on top of it.

How could we be saying goodbye forever? Despite the heartache and despair, we did our best to give Ameline the farewell she deserved. We chose a beautiful casket, adorned with roses, her favorite flower. We picked out her favorite song, a soft melody that highlighted her gentle spirit. And we invited all of her loved ones to come and pay their respects. As we stood around her grave, it was hard to hold back tears. Herodotus, myself, and all of her friends and family - we were all experiencing the same pain and disbelief. How could someone so young and full of promise be taken away so soon?

He crowed on his knees as he felt his resentment. “I felt sorry for you,” He murmurs as he snickered. “But I can’t be happy for you,” He then wipes the tears that were about to fall from his eyes. His last sentence disrupted him from laughing as he gazed at the tomb. He set his eyes on the tomb with scrutiny, as if staring at it could bring back the body underneath it to life. As he gazes at it, tears escaped from his eyes.