/lit/ - Literature

Out in the Field where the dog was buried he sat underneath the great, old oak. Years before it had been the Brambles, a dense thicket of thorns and raspberries. The park cleared it out for some reason or other and now it was the Field. They buried the dog when it was still the Brambles, in a secluded knot of vines and bushes. She was carried out in stained yellow sheet slumped against his Uncle’s back. He ran around the paths in circles as they buried her. It seemed to be a different place now. The grave was spared, a few cinder blocks aligned in the center of three trees. Twenty six paces from each tree. Weeds grew out from under them now. Shadows grew long but the heat did not relent. Just beyond the grave was the carcass of a young buck. Scarabs from an egyptian tomb cloaked the meager flesh still hanging. Its antlers were sawed off. He remembered when he was eight years old and a friend of his Dad had shot a deer down by the creek. He remembered how its innards lay on the ground like an ill-prepared meal.