Note: I could possibly expand this into an actual story, but I do kind of like it the way it is. I wrote this on a whim for a random writing exercise from a generator (found at http://www.chaoticshiny.com/wegen.php if you're interested). Rated for one instance of language. There's also a Harry Potter reference, just because I couldn't resist.
I don’t visit this sort of place because I’m a teenager with an over-the-top flair for the morbid.
My flair for the morbid is completely and utterly in control, thank you very much.
But seriously, that’s not why I’m here.
Last month was just ordinary graveyards. It was a nice run, but I’m moving on now to bigger and better things.
Prison graveyards are sort of doubly depressing. Like double-stuffed oreos, but in reverse.
I do hear that obesity has a positive relationship with depression, so you can never be too sure.
I am dead (ha, pun) serious. I am a guy in a trenchcoat in a graveyard and it just started raining.
Sometimes real life cliches are funny. Most of the time? Just irritating.
Luckily, I have the perfect tool to diffuse the situation.
Even if you’re not Hagrid, pink umbrellas do come in handy.
Five across, eighteen down from the entrance, I saw his name. Rufus Montgreggor. His middle name was Frederick, but they don’t mention that.
I found him. Five across, eighteen down from the entrance.
I found him. He’s lying beneath my feet.
I found it. Two scraps of paper clipped together. The last note, the last grave.
The first, a ripped out bit of lined paper: Use it, they’re good for you.
The second, a... are you kidding me?
I’m really just your average, everyday guy.
Honestly. I’m the most normal human male you’ll ever find standing, feet planted in the gooey gray mud of a prison graveyard, watching the pouring rain stream across concrete, wire, and the hot pink umbrella that’s shielding both me and the coupon for oranges I retrieved from the grave of my dead convict of a grandfather.
Well. You know what they say. When crazy old men send you on graveyard-hopping scavenger hunts that culminate in 25% off all mandarin oranges, you buy them.
And make some goddamn lemonade.
Gender:
Points: 2556
Reviews: 45