Five men stood around the roughly dug grave, staring in at the tangled wreck that had been the fuselage of a drop tank racer. Though awkward, it would have to serve. Adam had died the way he lived: in flames and fury.
The problem was that now they had to bury him in the charred mess of that same flame. Not to say that any of them were cheap, the flames had melted the fuselage of the car shut and he was now indistinguishable from the machine. Knowing that this is what Adam would have wanted, the group had collectively shrugged off the offers to cut the recognizable remains out and had chosen to bury him in it. He didn’t have any family to protest anyway. This wasn’t the only time his life had gone up in flames and fury, just the latest and last.
The caretaker of the small graveyard had had other thoughts, and had thrown an almighty tantrum, huffing through his steel mustache and brandishing his ancient shovel, but in the end they had managed to wheedle this tiny spot in the back out of him. Not knowing why it was such an issue, like anyone was going to see their improvised coffin anyway, they took what they could get and had gathered solemnly under the shriveled, twisted bald cypress.
The gaze of the unimpressed caretaker seemed to send with it a breath of impatience, felt like ice on their exposed necks. They looked to one another and shrugged simultaneously, as if to say, “Well…..what else do we say?”
It was Jared that broke the silence. Rocking back on his heel, he looked up into the withered branches and sighed heavily, “So…should we go get a beer?”
The others looked up and stared at Jared for a moment, nonplussed. The silence between the group dragged on, none of them sure what to do, when as one, they smiled a little and wiped their hands, murmuring assent to the proposed beers.
A gentle wind rattled the dried branches above them, needles falling with an empty clatter onto the tormented fuselage behind the group. The caregiver’s disgusted gaze followed their quiet procession, steel pokers bidding them hurry up and leave; he had work to do yet. Their shenanigans weren’t welcome in this hallowed ground.
Becoming Vertical 