Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Suspense/Mystery

3143999

I peer at the 7-digit number on Gram’s wrist. 7 numbers. 7 Different numbers. With 7 different meanings. That would have meant something 7 days ago.

Even with her eyes shut, through the protection of her eyelids, I could still feel her leer. Most people thought that it inspired bad luck to look at one’s expiration. They’ll cross their hearts and mutter a small prayer to the God they’d forgotten existed.

Grams was no different. She, at least, knew what God she was praying to.

Her skin was congealing and lumpy in some areas, like her flesh was clinging to the ideals of life that it no-longer had access to.

But mostly—it looked like milk. Spoiled milk. Seems like we were throwing her—it—out the same way. Put it in a glorified box to rot and pollute the earth with its chemicals.

I wanted to get closer, needing to see if her skin smelled and felt as decayed as it looked.  However, before I could prove my suspicions, my vision was obscured by mourners.  

They surrounded the body that once held Grams like vultures circling their next meal. Their cries similar to the scream of the scavengers, their black covered bodies mimicking the dark feathered creatures, and I became scared for Grams. Terrified that these monsters would pick at the life Grams once had.  

“Everyone may take their seats”, I could hear the Priest saying; and like children caught peeking, the vultures turned and scurried to their seats. I did too, but instead of sitting in the pew like a well behaved child; I walked.

Out the door. Beyond the field encrusted with tombstones. And drifted home, like the ghost Grams had become.