C171 Buried Lies and Burning Roads.

The sun beat down as we gathered at the cemetery, a sea of black filling the field. The air buzzed with murmurs and shuffling feet. Everyone wore black. The police. The people. The priest is standing by the open grave. Even I was covered head to toe in black, a light scarf tight around my hair. I didn’t want attention — just for this to be over.

Doris’s casket lay before us