This was the tree alright, the dead one with no leaves.
Streetlight nearby, no need for the torch I had brought.
A night of hard labour ahead, best get to it.
Sweat and dirt, clanging metal on rocky, hard ground.
Takes longer than you think to dig a deep grave.
At three in the morning I stand back and stretch my aching back, take a drag on a refreshing smoke.
A car arrives. They make their delivery without a word.
Dawn is breaking as I pat down the replaced soil.
Easiest hundred bucks I’ll ever make, no questions asked.
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.