Flash Fiction: Grave

It gets lonely here.

All alone, no company. The neighbours have left their graves, choosing to move on to the next world. They were ready for their judgement. I would guess heaven was the place they would end up. They seemed like nice people.

Now, with them gone, I have no one here, and no interest in moving on. I do get ocassional visitors: risque couples, grave robbers and horror enthusiasts. Today, it’s this goat.

Here boy, stay right here till night settles in.

Lamb chops would be a nice dinner…


Word Count: 91

Prompt:

Friday Fictioneers 28 December 2018

26 comments

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