A dark figure moves into the light and out again. Green eyes flash as he stealthily makes his way over the iron fence and lands with a quiet thump on the other side. The trees rustle slightly in a cold breeze that scrapes the night air. The stones naming the deceased stick up from the ground; angels, crosses, and round little bumps.
The blond head bobs through the rows of tombstones, his feet quietly shushing through the fallen autumn leaves on the ground. He stalks to a small wooden shack next to the gate. The grave keepers shack, where the haggard man works and lives during the day. Arthur picked up a nicely sized rock and swung it against the weather-worn padlock. Once, twice. The lock broke and fell to the ground. Slipping inside Arthur grabbed the shovel that sat next to the door.
Scanning the mass of graves Arthur ran quietly through the rows, shovel in hand. He spotted the particular grave he was looking for and ran to it. He didn’t have much time to complete the task. The grave marker was a large iron cross. On the stone pedestal was an inscription requested by the man who had died and was buried at that particular spot.
Here lies Gilbert Beilschmidt
Tear filled green eyes stared at the inscription for a moment, allowing himself to zone out. Arthur shook his head after a moment, remembering what he had come here for. Knowing he could get in big trouble with the authorities for this, he smiled. ‘I just don’t care anymore’ he thought. ‘What I lived for is gone, kill me if you please.’
With that thought Arthur shoved the steel tip of the shovel into the earth. He plowed through and could feel it breaking and moving for a moment. His grin widened as it shuddered to a stop. With a mighty heave Arthur flung the earth behind him, and readied for the long task ahead.
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An old man with sad grey eyes and a haggard face unlocked the wrought iron gates to the graveyard he was in charge of caring for. He had on an old leather coat and a woolen cap. In the morning air his breath came out in little puffs as he scratched the stubble on his chin. He grunted at the broken pad lock and missing shovel. “Them stupid kids” he muttered under his breath and began loping across the yard of the dead to check for any disturbances. It wouldn’t be the first time the place had been robbed.
“Damn thieves, can’t even clean up after themselves” the grumpy old man muttered. He limped over to the hole and peered inside the grave. What he saw shocked him. Huddled in a broken coffin holding the broken, rotting remains of the deceased was a man with blond hair and pale skin. Frighteningly pale. He could see every blue vein in the man’s body, and the grave yard keeper was afraid the man was no longer alive. He hurried away from the dug up grave, the piles of earth, and the possibly dead man to call the emergency number. Fifteen minutes later an ambulance and a cop car arrived. The paramedics confirmed him dead.
“Sir we’re going to take-“ one of the female paramedics said.
“Nuh. Leave ‘em where ‘e is. ‘E got what ‘e came fur. Leave the man be.” Grunted the graves keeper. The officials left and the man was left to bury the bodies of the two lovers, together at last after death had parted them.