Narrative

It was a dismal late September afternoon in central Maine. Miles down a dirt road five men are standing under a large pine tree. Rain beating down upon them it’s a wonder why anyone would be out in such weather. Let alone a group such as this. This is a group you wouldn’t expect to see working together. Two city kids in their high end coats and designer jeans. A clean cut Charlie Sheen looking character, a tall man wearing an army airborne cap. Then there was a sizable fellow wearing a black leather riding coat, a pair of well worn Levis and a pair of riding boots. A pair of aviators cover his eyes in hopes to hide his plethora of sins. That man clad in leather was the only one you’d expect to find in such a scene. Under that pine tree the five men were passing a shovel back and forth as they dug a sizable hole. With long faces they dig like they’re on a mission. The men pause only long enough to pass the shovel back and forth. The shovel is passed many times as the hole gets deeper. Through those aviators a watchful eye could see the wheels turning in the leather clad man’s head. He’d run through this scenario many times before but never expected it to be quite like this. He’d never doubted that he’d one day find himself hand digging a grave somewhere alongside a dirt road. He’d just never expected it to be during daylight and certainly not with this particular group of acquaintances. A moonless night would have been comforting to him. In fact the only part of the situation that fit was that everyone present had a hand in it. All men present were equally involved and therefore no one was innocent. Little was said after the men finished their digging. An eerily casual nod amongst them and they were making tracks.