A Morning Constitutional

James watched as the wind rustled the leaves in the trees. He was sure he'd seen a bird in there - they did come past occasionally, their numbers starting to grow again, but on this occasion there was nothing to be seen. Nothing at play but the workings of an overactive imagination.

He turned away and strolled along the length of the low perimeter wall on the eastern side of the graveyard. It had fallen into disrepair here and there, but still provided a clear boundary that should not - indeed could not be crossed. He was heading back in the direction of the small church in the south-eastern corner. There would be nothing new to see there - there never was - but time hung heavily on his hands and there wasn't much else to do. God, he missed Brendan. At times the old Irishman used to drive him crazy with his chatter, but he'd happily listen to that endless stream-of-consciousness rambling now - anything to replace this oppressive, unrelenting silence.

He was met with total quiet as he wandered through the church door and moved softly down the aisle, causing no disturbance as he passed. He paused in front of the board listing the hymns for the last ever funeral service that had been performed here. It had been so long ago.

Hymn number 2 - Abide With Me, Fast Falls The Eventide

He smiled humourlessly at that one, as he usually did. By Christ, when the eventide had fallen it had done so with a vengeance and no mistake. But there was little sign of God abiding here or for that matter anywhere else in this forsaken world.

Hymn number 252 - Guide Me, O Thou Great Redeemer

Another classic, pushing the needle of the irony meter right up to the max. He resisted the temptation to shout "Hey, Great Redeemer, I could use a little guidance here!" as that joke had long since worn thin. Long, long since.

Hymn number 638 - The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Is Ended

"No shit," he murmured, making his way through to the vestry. There were mice in here - he'd seen their footprints in the dust, but there didn't seem to have been any activity recently. He sat for a few minutes, hoping for an appearance, but it looked like there was going to be no show to provide him with a few minute's diversion this time. The calendar on the wall was surprisingly non-religious, featuring as it did an illustration of a steam train. The train for May was a "Black Five" apparently. For a while the need to know what would have been the choice for June had become a matter of intense, illogical irritation, but that had been some time back.

May 2043.

He had long since accepted that June through December would keep their secrets a while more, until May had disintegrated to reveal what lay underneath. The paper was faded, yellowing and curling at the corners, but still had some integrity, even after all these years. One day he'd find out...one day...

He had started counting the years since then, since that unexpected "Year Zero" moment, but had long since lost count. How long had it been? Thirty years? Forty years? Christ, how easy it was to lose track!

He left the church, downhearted at not having seen his four-legged friends. Not that they paid him the slightest attention as they scurried back and forth. There were no signs of higher life forms as yet, even after all this time. The birds had returned first, then the mice, and he convinced himself he'd once seen a fox, but he couldn't swear that it had been anything more than wishful thinking.

Looking over the south perimeter wall, he could see the sun glinting off the remains of the cars on the distant main road. They'd tried to escape the city, but this was still far too close. The blast hadn't been enough to do much damage this far out, but the heat had been intense. They hadn't stood a chance. He didn't hang around long - the southern view always depressed him. You used to be able to see the taller buildings of the city on the south-western horizon, but there was nothing to be seen there now.

Ten minutes later he'd completed his circuit of the graveyard, returning again to the broken tombstone.

James Pearce
1962 - 2021
Beloved Husband and Father
Rest in Peace

If only. He glanced sideways at the neighbouring stone.

Brendan O'Rafferty
1947 - 2021
Always In Our Thoughts

You could barely see the signs of damage those little bastards had inflicted when they'd vandalised this corner not long after he'd been laid to rest here. Ellen and the children had moved away soon afterwards, and so there was no-one left to repair the marker. But Brendan's huge family had put together the cash and had his stone repaired within the year. Within the year. He'd only known the man less than a year, but it had seemed so much longer, and even after all this time he could still recall the smile on his friend's face as the stone was reset, watching him slowly fade, steadily becoming more translucent until he was no longer there. His fading last words had been "see you on the other side."

James stared at the wreckage. One day, you old bugger, one day. Though that day was going to be a long, long time coming - if no-one had had a mind to repair the stone back in the old days, there was certainly no chance of a repair in the post Year Zero era.

James looked up at the sun and judged it to be mid-morning. It was going to be another long day. Sighing wearily, he strolled off in the direction of the eastern wall...


June 2023 contest ▼

Picture prompt - a broken gravestone
Word count - 971