The Days of The Olde Burying Yard
by Doug Bond
On the short walk from school we scuffed our shoes through dry leaves. I kicked a pumpkin in the gutter down a hill. At the graveyard, Mrs. Denson showed us how to hold the paper against the stones and rub from the center out using the long side of the crayon, not the pointed tip.
I'd been held back to do 5th grade again, so I knew how it worked and showed some kids. The place had been holding dead bodies for over 300 years. I said to Cindy to follow me, I'd show her the best one.
At the far corner, almost off in the woods, I found it, the one that had the poem. There were black chestnuts lying rotted all around.
“Phennias Jessup is his name. That's his death's head scroll, an hourglass, bats, spirals and angel's wings on either side of the top part of the stone. That's called the tympanum.”
Cindy had short blond braids and black buckle shoes. I told her to rub the stone so we could read the words.
From youth and vigor soon he fled
And here he rests among ye dead
Uncertain here we draw our breath
How soon we pass from life to death.
“Cindy, Phennias Jessup was only 9 years old, and here we are standing on top of his head!”
She screamed at me and stomped up the hill to tell Mrs. Denson. When they headed back down I ran away flapping my arms with the wind.
I'd been held back to do 5th grade again, so I knew how it worked and showed some kids. The place had been holding dead bodies for over 300 years. I said to Cindy to follow me, I'd show her the best one.
At the far corner, almost off in the woods, I found it, the one that had the poem. There were black chestnuts lying rotted all around.
“Phennias Jessup is his name. That's his death's head scroll, an hourglass, bats, spirals and angel's wings on either side of the top part of the stone. That's called the tympanum.”
Cindy had short blond braids and black buckle shoes. I told her to rub the stone so we could read the words.
From youth and vigor soon he fled
And here he rests among ye dead
Uncertain here we draw our breath
How soon we pass from life to death.
“Cindy, Phennias Jessup was only 9 years old, and here we are standing on top of his head!”
She screamed at me and stomped up the hill to tell Mrs. Denson. When they headed back down I ran away flapping my arms with the wind.
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Author's Note
oooh, SCARY! (not)
written for week #24 prompt, Tombstones, at 52|250 http://52250flash.wordpress.com/
Other stories by Doug Bond
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This has a sweet, old fashioned feel. Very nice.
Nice one, Doug! Like the child’s point of view here that you portray so well.
Good story. Like the poem.
Great image in the closing. Nice companion to the opening paragrpah. Enjoyed this piece, Doug. Good fit for the challenge. Yes.
thanks Katie...Christian...Matthew and Sam. Happy Halloween
Effective. Evocative. Fav.
Doug, a Treat for Halloween! Thanks!
Loved this on the challenge and still do. It's a wonderful story
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challenge or not, this is the best kind of storytelling, as you do so well in all of your work. *
Susan! Julie! Appreciate your very kind words, thanks for reading!
I loved this one that week, and I love it here. Always good to catch up with your masterful stories, Doug. I esp love the last image - those flapping arms.
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thanks, Michelle....Tombstones was fun to write to!
I just followed someone else's comment here. Oh, I love this! That the narrator was held back in 5th grade and so can show others how to do the tombstone rubbing is such a lovely detail. Really engaging storytelling!*
thanks Cherise...thanks for noticing the "holding back" detail...once that came to mind the rest wrote itself
Love!*