by Paula Gail Benson
The small, unadorned tombstone sat wedged at the corner of the cemetery's cinder block fencing. Larger monuments in the family plot had lengthy chiseled homages and floral wreaths.
Before leaving the
desolated spot, a visitor wondered, could not some recognition be made at
Christmas, even for a murderer?
At midnight, the young
woman’s wispy figure appeared holding a small bouquet. “Even as a ghost, I feel
the wind whipping through the broken bones that never healed,” she whispered.
Beneath her spectral feet,
warmth radiated, as if her condemned protector opened a small door from hell to
offer her Christmas comfort.
***
This 100 word story is
offered as an entry for the annual Advent Ghosts event hosted by Loren Eaton
at I Saw Lightning Fall. See the other entries
there. Thanks, Loren, for the opportunity!
