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!