01/11/2022 - KATA TON DAIMONA EAUTOU
Reading time: 3 min
Photo by Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash
The Gravestone laid tired on its hollow bed. A merciless sun was rising after another Halloween, and Père Lachaise Cemetery was slowly turning into a tourist attraction once more, leaving behind a night of irresponsible daring.
The Gravestone sighed, incapable of shielding its dark epitaph, and itched where a used condom—full and disgusting, yes, but at least tied at the end, to avoid any spillage—dangled, pushed by the gentle morning breeze.
It had been a decade since the last time it happened, thanks to the increased surveillance and the new night guard, but back in the day it had been a common occurrence. Youngsters would show up after dark and cry their eyeliner on the poor Gravestone; but instead of leaving flowers, like any other mourner, they would jump the fence and drop CDs, pictures, letters, weed, syringes. Some would smoke a joint sitting right above the coffin; others, such as the two of last night, would improvise a quick and clumsy intercourse, backs squashed against the poor Gravestone, which was young to be a gravestone, but felt as old as its siblings of the previous century.
The Gravestone had enjoyed the years of relative peace, but lately, with the higher cost of living, the cemetery had to scale back with personnel, and this was the result. The Gravestone hoped its message was clear enough.
It heard the steps of the morning guard coming its way and prepared to do what gravestones do instead of rolling their eyes.
“What did you do?” the guard asked, annoyance more than panic sipping through the sleepiness of his voice.
“I’ve sent a message,” the Gravestone vibrated. “What did you expect? You left me alone, all night long, at Halloween. Something was bound to happen. I hate having those fornicators all over me.”
“You could have booed them away,” the guard said, scratching his head. “Did you have to kill them?”
“I said it’s a message,” the Gravestone vibrated. “For the management. Plus, their corpses kept me warm. It was a chilly night. Could you please remove the condom? It’s driving me insane.”
“It’s a chilling morning,” the guard said, picking the condom with his stick, staring at the two young bodies laying on the tomb. Their private parts were uncovered, but they had kept their clothes on. It must have been a chilly night after all.
“I’m not cleaning this up,” the guard said.
“You’ve chosen a bad day to be the cemetery guard, then,” the Gravestone vibrated.
The guard made a face. “What would the poor Jim say if he knew his Gravestone was killing all these people?”
“He can complain with his father,” the Gravestone vibrated. “He should have chosen the words on my epitaph more carefully.”
About this story
Prompt: no prompt.
The Gravestone protagonist of this story is a very famous one. Can you guess it without looking at the tags?
Notes on the challenge
Each and every story published here has been written, reviewed, polished and published in less than 90 minutes. Which means you’re going to find spelling mistakes, ugly sentences and weird structures. I still hope you’ll enjoy them!
