Umbrella

The rain fell like heavy gray velvet curtains. There was no one around, except for a man holding a black umbrella. He stood still, watching the water flood their open graves – the parents and the child. There was no remorse on his face; or in his heart. He thought he saw the child move. Did he imagine it? He could not take that chance. He kept the umbrella on the muddy ground and picked up his shovel. He began to shove dirt into the child’s grave. There was mud over the child’s mouth and nostrils. The man smiled, satisfied. Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com Please do not reproduce the material published here.