Tucker, as requested.swordageAugust 9 2005, 20:40:28 UTC
He runs his hands through his hair. The dirt on this plot of land is loose, freshly turned, but it is hard work to dig deep enough to reach the casket. The headstone is broken by rebellious teens already - only two arms of the cross reach long shadows over his pale face. He thinks he might care more if there weren't a hand dangling limply over the edge of the pit, swinging like a toe tag when his head brushes against it. He might care more if he were a religious man. He isn't. There is no God
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...That was kinda bigger than a drabble, huh?
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