Grind your axe before you bury your hatchet

They were gathered under the blue moon. They had gathered to bury John’s cat. For the ninth time. She had fallen off a tree, narrowly missed being hit by a car and plagued by various diseases, but it was curiosity that finally did her in.

They didn’t want to be interrupted, so Junaid had brought a glass eye. He kept it out, just beyond the circle they had formed.

John took her out of the bag and buried her head first in the sand.

Jiao took out a stack of playing cards and tossed a few into the grave. He never played with a full deck in any case.

Jai looked resigned. He took an eight ball from his pocket and dutifully placed it on the ground in front of him.

Jamie voiced his opinion. Someone tossed two cents his way.

Jonjo had nothing to say. He had purchased a beautiful picture of a sunset (or was it a sunrise?) two days back. He had had to trade a thousand words in return. Choice words, too.

It was almost time to go. They all pulled their woolen scarves over their eyes. In the distance they could hear cows mooing. They too were headed back home.


About fictionfuture

An experiment in minimalist fiction View all posts by fictionfuture

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