019/2012 The Graveyard

Word Count:  348

Gravedigger stood off in the shadows of the bordering elms waiting for the end of the service. His arms carelessly leaned on his shovel as he eyed the small cluster of mourners, spent the time figuring out who was the wife, the son, the daughter. Especially the daughter. He still liked the blondes and this one had golden yellow hair that caught sunlight and sparkled lively against the contrast of death.

He was still muscled and brown from the sun but wrinkled with time. His hair was wildly streaked through with gray and uncut but once had been thick and disheveled and black, with a wave that curled on his forehead. Could send a girl into a swoon. Green-blue eyes that glinted like seawater. Now they were cloudy and cold.

Gravedigger grinned. Wiped his chin with the back of his hand, leaving a stripe of grave dirt without being aware.

His favorite chick pick-up spot was always the graveyard. Perfect, he found, for  weeping young women dressed in svelte black, needing someone to hold and console them. They’d come back for a visit in a day or two more. Gravedigger was a patient man. Used to waiting. His soft voice would say something consoling. His gentle hand belied his strength. Within a visit or so he would turn their pain into pleasure. Then turn it to pain back again.

He felt the old twinge as the mourners laid flowers and said their goodbyes. His eyes caught the eyes of the daughter. He nodded in a sign of respect for the dead. She was worth waiting for.

Gravedigger shoveled the earth back into the hole. Leveled and patted it down. Spread some seed. Arranged the flowers, the blanket of roses, the baskets of white gladiolas and mums. Satisfied with his work, he walked the path back to the shed. Stopped several times to read tombstones of women he had once held in his arms. Smiled at the memories. Felt good as he left them to sleep evermore in his graveyard.

Shivered as he thought of one more.