Disasterpiece

Yawning, I shoved my key in the lock and turned it before pulling it out and dropping it into my bag. I turned away from the front door and looked out onto our front lawn, it was in dire need of some TLC, most of the grass was brown and the rest was strewn with weeds; the single flower bed that centred the whole masterpiece had long forgotten what an actual flower looked like. I yawned again and shoved my sunglasses on my head, making my way down the empty drive; it was earlier than I usually left for work but I had some business to take care of.

I found a bottle cap to kick as I dawdled down the street, not taking any notice of my surroundings until I reached my destination. Pulling open the small rusted gate, I squeezed through the familiar gap easily and let the gate clang loudly behind me. Drawing in a deep breath, I walked past the incarved stones I had read over a hundred times without much thought, until I found the space I was looking for. Pulling my bag from my shoulder, I dumped it on the mossy grass and collapsed with my back against the old willow. I smiled happily at the smell of the old bark, and the way the breeze here was always calm and welcoming, and that even though the cemetery sat by a busy road, you could never hear the traffic once you passed through the gate.

I looked over to the bare patch of ground between two graves in front of me; it still was unbelievable to me that no one had ever claimed this as their own before. Granted this part of the cemetery wasn’t used anymore, but why had they left a gap when they built M. Williams grave next to P. Carter’s? Especially this perfect spot…in a way I’d always hoped that by some divine will, this place had been purposefully left just for me.

Yes, this was my grave.

Well, it wasn’t yet, like I said I still owed a few more payments on it; but I was getting there. No one that knew about this understood why I wanted it, why I needed it; I guess I can’t really put it into words. Life has not been terrible for me, in fact life has probably been just about as fair to me as any other average person I suppose, but life is just that. It’s living; it’s getting through every day as best you can so you can see the next one. I know what’s going to happen tomorrow, it won’t change from today – that is until I actually die, and when I do I want to be somewhere peaceful, somewhere I love where some of my happiest moment are present, where the unknown and unexpected is waiting. I don’t fear death, I guess it’s what keeps me going, because it’s the only thing I cannot know or fathom or comprehend completely until I’ve actually done it.

I craned my neck around the tree and looked towards the house next to the cemetery, it wasn’t fancy or anything, just a cheap fibreglass box made in the sixties. It was my home once, a very long time ago, and that window looking straight out onto this very willow was part of my bedroom. I use to sit there at night looking out onto this tree; I loved to watch the way the branches swung around in the wind, like it was battering away all the evil spirits from the holy ground. Sometimes he would come and sit next to me, and when the conversation died we just looked out to the cemetery in silence; but that was a long time ago. My stomach began to twist in a knot and my heartbeat accelerated, so I turned away quickly before I could think of any more.

“Nicest part of this whole place don’t you think?” a deep voice said from above, startling me and causing me to jump in surprise. I looked up at a figure standing a few feet away from me, staring at my grave with a longing look in his eyes.

“I do think,” I replied quietly as I took in his appearance; long black hair, some of which was dreadlocked, piercing blue eyes, an eyebrow and a lip ring. From where I was sitting he looked quite short as well, probably around the same height as me. But under this look there was a definite air of superiority emitting from him, a kind of cockiness that kept his head in the air and his casual stance just slightly pose-like. He looked away from my grave and straight at me, a weak smile tugging at the side of his lips.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said; then he turned and walked away. I watched him pass through the cemetery gates and head down the street silently, my brows tugging together in confusion – what a strange little man. Pulling out my phone I checked the time and decided it was time I got to business before I had to leave for work. Groaning, I pulled myself from the ground, picked up my bag and made my way through a different path of graves towards a small red brick building isolated in the middle of the cemetery.

Pushing open the glass door when I got to the building I was met with the musky odour of old people and time. A grey haired, speckled lady tottered in from the back room at the sound of someone entering and smiled warmly at me.

“Vixen my dear how nice to see you,” she greeted, walking up to me she shook my hand with enthusiasm.

“It’s nice to see you as well; I’ve come to make another payment,” I told her, her usually bubbly face fell slightly when I finished talking. She frowned and let go of my hand, a black shadow cast over her face; was it sadness or shame that I saw?

“Oh deary, wait here one moment and I’ll get John,” she said quietly, I watched her totter to the back room quickly, a kind of nervous edge to her step. My throat began to dry and my lips tense, I listened to a rush of whispers coming from out back. The sound of ruffling papers and something falling on the floor followed before the face of the cemetery’s care taker, John came into view.

“Hello Miss Law it’s good to see you,” John said as he walked out, his face however showed a complete contradiction to his words. I nodded in his direction, afraid that my voice would break if I tried to talk; nerves began to rise up from the pit of my stomach, bubbling somewhere in my throat. John loosened his neck tie in a few jerky movements and cleared his throat, my eyes caught on a piece of paper in his hand. “I was, er, actually in the process of sending you a letter Miss Law,” he continued after a moment. Holding out the paper in his hand I noticed that there was what looked to be a check attached to the front of it.

I stepped forward uneasily and took the paper from his hand, stepping back I eyed him warily before looking down. I had been right, it was a check attached to the front of the paper, addressed to me with such and such amount. The paper itself was covered in a messy old school scrawl, addressed to me once again and signed on behalf of John Anderson. I read over it quickly, my heart sinking faster than you’re stomach drops when you jump from a plane. I felt feint when I looked back up at John, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“You sold my grave?” I asked hoarsely, the pain that came from speaking the words out loud and making them that much more real began to tear at my insides. No, this was my grave, this was my part of the world, this was the only place I belonged to, and they were going to take it away from me? The only thing I had left to hold onto?

“I’m sorry Vixen, I really am, but costs are rising and you’re payments have been slack of late and he offered us an amount we were in no position to refuse,” John apologised, a pleading edge in his voice.

“So offer him another space!” I cried hysterically, my arms flapping in the air.

“I tried, but he was intent on that particular space,” John replied quietly, his dotty old secretary came up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder as if he was the one that needed comfort.

“Who is he? I’ll talk to him myself, make him change his mind, please you can’t take my grave away from me,” I pleaded, my eyes were starting to burn now – I was thankful that I still had my sunglasses on.

“I don’t have a contact number, you really only just missed him by minutes though,” John said. “I am sorry Miss Law, but we have refunded the total amount you have paid to this date and we hope that you are able to find another space that takes your liking,” he added. I swallowed hard and sniffed, unable to trust my own voice or my fists which were now bunch up tightly, I spun on my foot and stormed out of the office, praying that the glass door smashed behind me as I left.