There’s a graveyard at the end of my street.

I’ve walked round it since I could walk. I’ve read the tombstones since I could read.

Over the years I have written the life stories of the people buried there.

There’s one grave that memorialises three generations of one family. The father, son and grandson. They all died within ten years of each other. It’s tragic for them. It’s worse for the mother who has lost them all. How has she managed to go on?

One day I’ll lay down there and join the ghosts of my imagination. In the graveyard at the end of my street.

© Liz Young

Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).

To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

This month I am taking part in the A to Z Challenge 2017 – a post each day based on the letters of the alphabet and a theme. You can visit my A TO Z CHALLENGE 2017 page here to read the story.

As this challenge will take up a lot of my blogging time I may not get round to commenting on everyone’s posts, but I hope to find time to read all your stories as usual, and still be able to participate in Friday Fictioneers each week.


    1. Thanks Sandra – that part is in fact true – I do have a graveyard at the end of my street in the house I’m in now. Thankfully it is far enough away it is out of sight most of the time!


  1. It’s a feeling that used to be very strong in some communities, wanting to know where they would be buried. The sign of people who live for generations in the same place. We’ve lost that now. Not sure if it’s good or bad.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. There is something comforting about seeing several generations of families together in the same place, and for those left behind I imagine it is a nice thing to think of everyone remaining together.


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