By Collette Harrison

The gravedigger sank his shovel into the loose soil. A tall stone marks the hole he digs, reading nothing. The gravedigger did not know the identity of the boy in the coffin; he had never talked to the boy and yet remembers seeing him. He was always smiling. The man thought not of the boy’s name, which had no use to him where he lay, for wasn’t it better for the boy to be happy in life than remembered in death?

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