I pat down the last of the grave soil, and light seven candles with dirty hands. The figure is more mound than man: a failed Adam.
Its crude arm reaches.
I give it the effigy of my child’s murderer, whose wealth keeps him free.
“Avenge.”
Task given, it lurches.
Copyright © 2018 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.
Very well told! :D
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nicely done!
LikeLike