Teaser Tuesday 2

Second week of Teaser Tuesday for me. Spent a lot of time revising and polishing a short for submission. I do believe it is almost ready. It currently sits in the capable hands of a few beta readers. Here is a glimpse...as always, comments are not only appreciated but they are hoped for, prayed for, and lit candles for. The glimpse picks up about 3/4 of the way through...


The wagon was led to a bare spot in the field. A small crowd of people surrounded a freshly filled hole in the ground, many watching my slow progression in their direction. My cart was brought to a halt. The dusty man, no longer dusty but clean and dressed in a dark suit, his black hair slicked back from his forehead, approached a man who stood in the crowd. This man was lean and tall, with haggard features and deep dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed in rugged clothes, pants and a shirt that looked like they were no strangers to hard work. His jaw clenched as the dusty man approached, his eyes seeming to flinch with each approaching footstep. He was holding the hand of a woman who was sitting on the ground, her other hand resting atop the fresh surface of the filled cut in the ground. She did not look up as the dusty man approached. She stared at the mound of dirt, tears cascading unheeded down both cheeks. Many others stood around the couple in a tight, protective half circle.


The dusty man whispered a few words to the tall man and the tall man nodded. He let go of the woman's hand and started to approach my cart. Her hand hung in the air for several seconds, her eyes never leaving the mound of dirt, tears never stopping, as if the man was still standing there holding it. One of the women in the crowd reached forward and gently pushed the crying woman's hand down. It dropped slowly, like a feather dropped from a passing swallow, coming to rest next to her other hand on the dirt mound, the fingers caressing the soil.


The two men reached the cart where I lay. The tall man leaned forward. He stared at me for minutes which seemed like hours. He reached a trembling hand forward but stopped midway, hovering in the air between us. It stayed there for several seconds. Then his jaw clenched and his hand closed the gap between us and he touched me, running his thin fingers across the grooves in my surface, his lips moving as he read the inscription that had been created by the dusty man's tools. A single tear broke free from his dark eye, leaving a track of clean skin through the mask of dirt on his face. His lip quivered as he read the words once, twice, three times, each time using his fingers to touch the words. His fingers lingered on the raised image of the cross, on the kneeling girl.