The Daily Post publishes a one-word prompt every day for everyone to write about. Today, the word is Bury. Any similarities to any real event or person is not intentional. Topic may not be suited for very young readers.
Bertie, my stepfather, was acting a bit inappropriate for the occasion. I just wanted to lay my mother down to her final resting place. Bertie kept going on about the news.
“… and he was like, ‘What did I do now? I’m just a producer. Why are people swarming the house?’ At least, that’s how I would react.”
“Bertie, will you quit it now?” I said.
Bertie nodded and said ‘fine’.
In the middle of the ceremony, I caught him chatting with someone from the local council. If only he wasn’t my stepfather…
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why not? I mean, we all know they want to cover it up. Why else would they delay the investigation. Imagine how they felt watching those kids–”
“–please stop. I’m not comfortable.”
Bertie snorted. He went on, loud enough to disrupt the pastor.
“Bertie.” I grabbed Bertie towards the back of the crowd. I asked the pastor to go on.
“Bertie, what are you doing? I’m burying my mother, goddammit.”
Bertie heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. It’s so sudden.”
“Do you want to go now, Bertie?”
“No, go to your mother, I’ll just wait here. I need some time to think.”
I went back to the front, in time for lowering the casket. Mum’s death was so sudden and I think I get what’s going on in Bertie’s mind. Delay as much as possible, spend some time with her more before the inevitable. Even I got shocked when I got the phone call. Mum has always been there, always looking from afar.
There she was, looking from the entrance to the bone yard, burying her lies to the ground.