She weaved through the grass attempting to dodge the grave markers. Once upon a time there was a path here, now it's been all but swallowed, reclaimed by nature. Most of these graves were here long before she was born. This place is no longer maintained, but forsaken in exchange for a newer and much nicer cemetery on the other side of town.
A cold wind bit at her skin and the bare trees rattled like old bones above her head. She shivered though whether it was from the temperature or the feel of this place, she didn't know.
Most of these graves must be forgotten by now. She thought to herself as she made her way through the overgrown flora.
She had no desire to be there and would have avoided coming at all had her grandmother not insisted she visit at least once.
She stopped in front of a grave.
Victor Murray
Aug. 1967 - May 2016
Beloved Son and Father
He will be sorely missed
The epitaph felt like a joke to her as memories flooded her mind; none of them good. All of them involving the man who was now underground.
She knew people liked to lie about the dead. Something about them deserving dignity and respect after they were gone. Her grandmothers words came back to her.
'He's paid the price child. Let him lie.'
Why did death suddenly exonerate a person of all wrongdoing? Why was she expected to forget everything he had done to her just because he was no longer breathing?
If only all the damaged he'd done had died with him. She turned her back on the grave and walked away.
If there was one thing Olivia Murray could say with certainty it was that her father would not be missed. At least, not by her.
Good one