The only sound in the cemetery came from the clink, clink of the jar of coins that I grasped tightly in my hands. I stopped at the first grave, and shuddered as my eyes fell on his name. Shaking, I reached into the jar for a quarter and slipped it into the slot on the headstone. His favorite song broke through the silence. It wasn’t enough. I put a quarter in each headstone. It was suddenly so loud as the songs clashed, but at least it matched the overwhelm in my head. I sobbed. Welcome to the jukebox cemetery.
Categories:
Microfiction corner: Quarters for Flowers
Zoe Miller
•
October 22, 2020
Story continues below advertisement
Donate to The Olaf Messenger
$0
$1000
Contributed
Our Goal
Thank you for donating to The Olaf Messenger! Your donation will support the student journalists of St. Olaf College. Your contribution will allow us to purchase equipment, cover our annual website hosting costs, and print more physical copies for the campus community.