Flash Fiction Story
One of my favorite magazines has a monthly contest which includes a picture as a writing prompt and a 250 word limit. The best story received gets published in the back of the magazine. I entered the story below into this contest. The picture I had as a prompt was a shot of a graveyard through a wrought iron fence. Prominent in the picture was an obelisk-like tombstone. The photo seemed to have sort of a mid-west or plains feel to it. The story below did not win, so I thought I’d put it here.
Close To The Bones
Matt slammed his car door. He glared at the two men straining to ease a large monument out of the bed of a pickup. Two Nevada State Troopers approached him.
“Mr. Hall. Sorry to trouble you. I’m Sgt. Hood. This is Trooper Witt. This must be hard for you.”
Matt pushed past them to the wrought iron fence. The gate hung crooked on its hinges. In the scrub grass he could see a four foot hole beside his mother’s tombstone. He faced the officers.
“We caught them driving up highway 95 with your father’s tombstone,” Trooper Witt spoke. “They worked all night to dig it out.”
“You know about the rumor that your father found a large vein of gold?” Sgt. Hood asked.
“Used to say he’d make a monument of gold to himself,” Matt said. “They usually bring chisels.”
“These two got creative,” Trooper Witt said.
“There’s nothing there. He drank every dime he earned,” Matt snapped.
“You and your father didn’t get along?” asked the Trooper.
“He hated us,” Matt said. “I left the day Mom died.”
“We’ll see everything is put back the way it was,” the Sergeant said. “You want to press charges?”
“Just fix it and get out of here!”
“Sir–” The Sergeant started. The gravestone fell sideways. It crashed into the front of the cruiser. The officers ran at the men shouting.
Matt forced the gate. He knelt by his mother’s grave.
The inscription read:
Joy Hall
1948-1996
My Beloved Treasure.
Copyright 2010 held by Christopher Floyd.
Digital Exile 