I've Dug Two Graves For Us Novels & Stories

He swallowed. “They chose you,” he said quietly. Not bitter. Just tired. So tired. He dug again. Like he had for the middle child. Bare hands tearing into the earth. Dirt under his nails. Blood mixing with soil. Two small graves now. Side by side. Too close together. No parent should ever dig graves this small. He laid the youngest down gently. Covered them slowly. Each handful heavier than the last. When it was done, he stayed there kneeling. Long after.

New message. A photo of our cemetery, time-stamped five minutes ago. Fresh dirt disturbed. A shovel in frame. Under it, three words. DIG HIM UP.

Samuel said seriously, "As long as I can do it, I will do my best." Holy Essence nodded. "Okay, it's not difficult." "Dig my grave and dig my corpse!" "What?"

Then I knew she was alive but now? I dropped to my knees in front of their graves the dirt still looking too new and unsettled. Like someone had just finished the job and left me here to pick up the pieces. I pressed my palms into the soil, the chill of it racing up my arms. It was damp and heavy. As if it knew it was holding too much. “I wasn’t supposed to outlive you.” I muttered and I could hear the damn wind whisper through the trees mocking me. “I wasn’t supposed to lose you like that.” My voice cracked and I let my forehead touch the ground like a soldier surrendering at the foot of defeat.

and soon after, I heard the metallic clanking the shovel and the stones in the sound made. I was there alive, and my grave was being dug before me, never had I ever imagined ending up like this in all of my existence. “This should be deep enough,” Lucien said after he and Thalia had dug for a very long time. Thalia threw her shovel on the ground and dusted her palm, making a soft clapping sound.

I set him down gently on the grass for a moment, then grabbed a shovel from the corner and walked back to the open space near the edge of the garden, where the grass was softer and the trees offered a little shade. Without hesitation, I started digging. Every thrust of the shovel sent fresh pain through my ribs and arms, but I kept going. The ground was harder than I expected, and my body was weak from three days with no food or water, but I didn’t stop. Sweat mixed with the dried blood and dirt on my skin. My hands blistered quickly, but I kept going deeper and wider. When the grave was finally deep enough, I lowered Peanuts into it as carefully as I could. My hands were trembling again. I

The weeds in the garden were as tall as my knees. "Mom, Dad, I'm home," I said to the empty house, but there was no reply. I went to their graves to pay my respects. The inscriptions on their tombstones were no longer visible, and tall weeds covered them. I crouched and slowly pulled out all the weeds, and used my sleeves to wipe off the dirt on their tombstones.

Filled with excitement, I excavated the ground without fail or exhaustion. When the depth reached my height, I decided to lay the corpse and buried him. I shake off and rub my hands to remove dirt. I picked up two sticks and made it the substitution for the cross gravestone. I added the flowers I brought from our garden that were under my coat. "Now... you can rest in peace. I hope my service printed a smile on your spirit."

I make a mental note to prepare something to thank them with later. When we finish digging two six-foot-deep graves, I try with all my might not to let the tears flow. Together, the men lower the bodies, wrapped only in plain white cloth into the holes in the ground. As we cover them with soil, I whisper a silent prayer, for God to lead my parent’s souls into heaven and should they be reborn, for them to have a better life.

Only then — once every threat had been erased and every debt paid in full — would I bring her back. We stepped back outside, the evening air crisps and bitter, matching the rage and anger curling up its way to my chest. Gregor opened the car door, and I slid into the back seat, running a hand over my face. My body was here, but my mind? My mind was drowning in the memory of Ace’s words—the venom in his voice when he spat it at me. When he told me my parents were buried in the backyard, the same backyard I go every year to celebrate father’s remembrance, how could my mother and brother be buried there?