I’m digging a grave, son. My life’s work laid bare. A macabre undertaking, but I’ve excavated this plot with an archaeologist’s care, with fine brushes and twine lines. Every artifact was artfully placed.

But who will fill your grave, I ask.

The old man bends brittle and weeps.

Not I!

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. Wrote this in under 5 minutes.
2. Who will be the person in the grave? Who will heap the earth upon him?
3. I allow myself one exclamation point each year.