A man has to bury the one he loves, but he didn't kill her...
A Sandy Funeral
I didn’t want to bury her. Hell, does anybody really want to bury the one they loved? But I figured it was the right thing to do. It was either that or watch her body slowly decompose, not to mention the smell would be overwhelming if I left her here in the house.
I spent almost three hours digging the hole in the sand, covering her up, and putting a rock on top of the mound to mark her grave. She wouldn’t have wanted some expensive funeral, and besides, I knew that was where she wanted to be. After all, that’s where we first met.
It was fourteen years ago on a warm summer day, not a cloud in the sky, and she was just strolling along the beach, watching all the sunbathers as they colored their skin in the sun and played in the waves of the Pacific. She certainly wasn’t the prettiest thing on the beach, but it was still love at first sight. And her eyes-she had the most beautiful eyes-they could have melted any man’s heart!
I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Oh sure, I got angry with her a few times, maybe I even yelled at her once in a while, but that was only because she deserved it. If anything, she should have thanked me just for saving her in the first place. Who knows what would have happened to her?
No, I didn’t kill her. She just...died.
Oh well, that was another time, another chapter of my life. I’ve got someone else now, and I think she loves me almost as much as Sandy did. We seem to get along great.
In fact, I think I’ll take her for a walk this afternoon.