Tombstone Template Printable Novels & Stories

​It wasn't a standard, sterile corporate layout. ​Across the entire lower half of the Capital Daily, printed in the unmistakable, deep-set, silver-rimmed impressions of our mechanical typewriter keys, was the bold text of the tenth command. The offset rollers had pressed our raw layout sheets so hard that the black ink had bled through to the reverse side of the paper, creating a stark, dual-sided shadow that no electronic filter could erase. The words THE SUBTERRANEAN VOICE stood out like a physical scar against the clean, white margins of the official trade reports.

But as I reached for the handle of the top drawer, I stopped. The drawer was slightly ajar, not the way I had left it. With a leaden feeling in my stomach, I hooked my fingers around the edge and pulled it open. It was empty, except for a small, rectangular piece of cardstock sitting right in the center. I picked it up and carefully examined it. It was a vintage funeral card, the kind they hand out at wakes. There was no name on the front, only a gold-embossed lily, the petals slightly faded. I flipped it over, expecting to see something spectacular or informative. Instead, there was only a single line of text printed in a cold, formal font.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay. *First, the practical matters. My body is with Dr. Timothy Van at the city morgue. He’s an old friend who agreed to hold it for me until you were ready. His number is 555-0147. When you call him, tell him I sent you. He’ll help you with everything you need for the burial. I’ve already paid for a plot at Riverside Cemetery, section C, lot 42. The papers are in the filing cabinet under “Personal - Important.”*

"It's ok Lily. I need some help with the cremation ceremony of mom. You know I don't have many people. Would you come?" "Is it an even question to ask? I would dear. Don't worry." Reaching the graveyard Myra and Lily stood silently. Few of Myra's known people arrived there. Apart from that Dr. Blake had also arrived. It's been four years since Myra and Blake became close to each other. Since the treatment of her mother started, she was not that much strong. But with time and the assurance of Blake she grew into a stronger person. Though she was ready mentally for this day but somewhere deep in her heart she didn't want to be left alone. She decided to sit for some time in front of the grave.

I glanced over my shoulder. He stood in front of a stone stamped with his own name, thick‑block letters above the words FAILED CASES. At its base, a briefcase lay open, spilling out police reports, missing‑person flyers, and photos of people with their faces blurred. Tamsin’s grave marker showed an empty stage, her name above a list of community theater roles with lines scratched through them. A trunk at her feet overflowed with costumes, all of them faded, a single, untouched script resting on top: LEAD.

It had been cut from my student ID, the edges uneven. Jamie kept his head down, staring at his toes. His shoes were coming apart, but he didn't dare mention needing a new pair. "All right, please sign here." Mother's hand trembled as she signed her name. The pen tip tore slightly through the thin carbon paper. The staff stamped it. A bright red mark—CREMATED—blazed across the page.

A tomb. I constructed it from porcelain so thin it was translucent, layering the walls with slip mixed with ash from the kiln. I painted the exterior with cobalt blue, the color of death certificates and Marconi family crests. And inside, on the base, I inscribed the number—the registration number from the stillborn certificate—using the sgraffito technique, scratching through the blue to reveal the white bone beneath. 2024-08471-M. The identifier of the child who had died so that mine might live, or so that Julian might learn the cost of his arithmetic.

My birth date and date of death. There was also a short tribute on the down part of my tombstone that says ‘Gone To Soon, But Not Forgotten’ I let myself sink to my knees, as I sweep away the dry brittle leaves with my fingers, cleaning the surface hurriedly, my eyes burning with tears but I refuse to cry out. Unlike other graveyards on our way here, with bouquets of flowers, letters and incense sticks. Mine had nothing. Just bare, empty and abandoned. Cain was so cruel!

Kneeling under the old weeping willow, I squinted, trying to get a clear look at the thing in front of me. A tombstone. A big one. Dark granite, polished smooth, with deep cuts where the letters were chiseled. Darius James Stone Third-born with Alpha blood Awesome son and buddy 2/22/98 2016 The date wasn’t even solid. The pack just sort of guessed because William was all over the place, mentally. I mean, he wasn’t in the right headspace back then—not really tracking the when or how. Everything was just off. Wolves can be... complicated like that.

Tyler brought his phone down, the least hinged by his threat. He already had a plan about him in motion. Soon, he won’t be a problem anymore. Instead would be rotting down wherever he chose to hold him, repeatedly dealing with nothing but anguish. Tyler returned to the men he left, seeing the grave has been decorated fully into a a beautiful silver tombstone. His eyes scanned over the imprinted information about his father, written down below at the foot of the stone. His name, age starting from when he was born and when he died, and who he was when he was alive.