I've Dug Two Graves Novels & Stories

* * * Alessio The process of digging a deep hole right in the middle of the forest is long and gruesome, especially with no tools whatsoever, but I still do my best even when the sun begins to bore down on me and burn my skin. I do it without help. Lazaro tries to offer but I just say that I can do it and force him to go away. He and Chiara just sit by the tree, talking maybe, even though I couldn’t be sure. I just dig the hole by hand with a flat rock, my hands raw from the scratches and my heart heavy with seeing my best friend at the side of the pit, ready to be brought in and forever buried under the earth. I will never forget the things he has done, how he was as a person, what he did f

At a party hosted at our house, my husband sang a soul-stirring rendition of “Missing You Tonight". He poured his heart into it, his eyes misty and his voice raspy with emotion. I secretly recorded a video and posted it online. To my surprise, the video blew up. Hundreds of thousands of likes poured in, with the comment section overflowing with sympathy. Laughing, I handed my phone to my husband. “Jacob, you went viral.” The top-voted comment read: [Girl, I’m not one to stir up drama, but your husband looks like he’s nursing a broken heart.] I thought he’d just laugh it off with a half-hearted smile. Instead, he took the phone and looked me straight in the eye with dead seriousness. “Yo

I felt the grasses move the second time, and I knew at once that he was off already. My face curled into a quick weak smile and eased immediately, because it was odd smiling over the grave of the dead. If ever anyone wanted to rejoice over the demise of another, such person would have to do such indoors, to avoid being accused of having his hands in the death of the demised. I faced Gova’s grave, and the odd thought of digging out her ashes and casting it upon the flowers and the corners of the palace stroke my mind once again. I had never done such crazy thing before, but it really seemed nice to me, and fun, too.

He has no one to help him, and had been inconsistent, which is the sole attribute of the business. Ken kept on lamenting, pounding his fist on the wooden floor. The flies were back and this time more. He rose to his feet, ventured and returned with a shovel, he made out of the building leaping around the house in search of a hidden spot for a burial. He found one a few meters beside the well under an oak tree. With his face filled with anguish and grief, he began digging out the earth's crust. Stopping within intervals to recover from his ill-fated health. Soon he had made a portable place for a corpse. Ken made his way back to the cottage, grabbed Nicky by the leg and pulling her towards th

"His body is buried alongside my father." As he stood up and walked away, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over me. But at least now, I knew where his body lay, and that was something. Unknown pov.. I walked over to where Zuku's body was buried, the damp earth squelching beneath my feet as I approached the grave. With a determined gleam in my eyes, I began to dig. The shovel scraped against the soil and rocks, the sound echoing in the quiet of the cemetery.

Three Days Later The air was thick with grief. The cemetery was silent except for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees, the distant sound of birds chirping—too peaceful for a day like this. Two graves. Two names carved into stone. Martha Rodriguez. Javier Vargas. One was my mother. The other was the man I had killed. Sofia stood beside me, dressed in black, her face unreadable. She hadn’t spoken much since I told her we would be burying them together, giving her father the funeral he had been denied. I wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

My clothes are uncomfortably stuck to me, my hair matted to my face. After four graves I come across the number 6. Tabitha. The shadowy figure is nowhere to be seen, but then again...she could be right next to me and I just can’t make her out from the rain streaming down my face, running into my eyes. With one deep breath I drop onto my knees and start to claw at the dirt. Several times I pause, grossed out or it’s common sense taking over my limbs, but I push through and dig. Dig. Dig. Dig.

I grabbed a thick stick from the ground and started to dig. My hands were reddish and my nails were stained with dirt, but I kept digging. I pushed the fox into the shallow hole and covered it with earth. I used the stick to pat the dirt down, making a small mound. I sat there in the dirt for hours, staring at that tiny grave. I wished I could bury my own pain—and every other thing—just as easily. But I knew I couldn't. I knew that the only thing that would stop the burning in my chest was finding Dilan.

Slowly, beginning at midnight, I began digging a small hole into which I could easily step my leg. I've already excavated half of the mound into which I can easily step my legs on the fourth day, with only half more to do. I didn't get to close my eyes for a wink, and I believe it was already damaging my lower eyelid. I was exhausted and out of energy. It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to move my limbs. I step down, one by one, from the niches I dug and slump upon the earth.

The fire that had been roaring over the mansion started to hiss and die down, the downpour acting as a cold, indifferent blanket over the ruins of my life. I eventually stood up, moving like a puppet on strings. I found a shovel in the gardening shed near the edge of the estate and walked to the center of the garden, the place where my mother used to sit in the sun. I began to dig. Every time the blade hit the mud, a sob escaped my chest. The more I dug, the harder I cried, the dirt staining my hands and clothes until I was as much a part of the earth as they were about to be.