3,200

256

29

Jun 23, 2009

11 hours ago

3

Canada

Every day on my way to work, I pass you by. I pay my respects, hoping to God that you are his next chosen ones. I read the writing on your headstones, which seem to have faded with time. I can barely make it out, but the letters now seem to read, "Lady and man, buried in bed, glued to the teevee, stone cold dead." I hear the wind whisper your voices, and despite all the rustling it causes, you seem to cry out for help. But any day that I have taken the time to talk to your grave, I received nothing but blank silence. I tried planting flowers in your plot but the soil wasn't arid enough. Flowers are life, you see...and life thrives on death. But, being special creatures, neither of you are dead in the usual sense...so nothing that lives can use you for life again. I take the time to respect you at least, by rationally raking down the soil into even lines for you. At least this way, you can rest in peace.