The Burial

The sand weighs delicately on me. Sprinkles trickle off the pile on my chest and carry in a soft breeze into my face. I blink my eyes and they water. I am told not to move. I am told not to breathe. The sand piles on. Packed in with thumps which echo through the intricate density of the sand covering me. I can’t feel my feet. The sand’s weight has taken over, captured my senses, numbed me. I feel nothing but through the weight of the sand. The sand is devouring me and becoming me. It cracks as if I could break free but more is piled in the cracks and packed in. I’ve stopped moving. I stare up at the sky taking dwindling, shallow breaths. Then my nieces and my nephew squeal and call that dolphins are in the water. I am released to look.

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