True to his word, Uncle Joe took the key to his grave. One stormy night of the cousins working together, grunting, taking turns sharing shovels and the casket revealed itself.
The hole was dank and cavernous.
We drew straws.
Which unlucky bastard would do the deed? Open the lid and run hands over old Joe’s decaying corpse, digging through gore encrusted pockets.
I was the loser; but also, the winner. I launched out of that hole, smelling of death—key in my pocket—guns ablazing. The conundrum? What to do with the soil displaced by four dead cousins haphazardly astride Uncle Joe?
By Lisa H. Owens
Just 100 Words
100 Word Stories - November 2022 Photo Prompt
Keep it simple, Stupid!
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