April 4, 2014

“All Things Buried” by Jenny Cokeley

It was the hottest day in July when the first puppy died.  Sweat poured over Braylee’s eyebrows and trickled down her chin.  Her blonde hair stuck to the back of her neck and her bangs fell into her eyes as she tried to force the shovel into the concrete-hard desert dirt.  Despite her best efforts, she could only scrape away the top layer of rock and dead fluff grass.  With each blow to the ground, fatigue and frustration gripped her arms and back. “Come on! Come on!” she groaned. She used the force of her scrubby fifteen-year-old frame to finally slip the point of the shovel into the stubborn dirt and pushed with all her might until flesh rubbed away from the palm of her hand when the ground finally broke. Braylee removed the last shovelful…

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