People over the lands dread the start of the work week. For them, it signifies the start of another monotonous routine. Day in, day out.
Fortunately, my profession of choice leads me to have flexible hours. However, when my duty is called for, crows chirp and people wail for the undertaker’s arrival is a moment most dread..
Today was originally meant to be a day of loafing, however; a new client was discovered beneath the grand birch tree last night. Word spread around about the mysterious stranger and inevitably reached me. Thus, I stand in my attire at dawn in front of the grand birch tree. My shoes already drenched from the puddles caused due to the storm last night.
I spot the local griever. An old woman whose husband and children have been laid to rest by myself long ago. Having no one left to mourn her, she cries for all the others in hope someone will do the same for her. She wears the typical black gown and sobs sincerely. I find it within me to approach her and give her a cloth to wipe her tears. I feign some more comfort before I can get on with my duties.
The stranger, after inspection, appears to be a man who I assume was a merchant. He had a fancy green cloak over more practical travelling clothes. I whistle knowing that that means money. I ready myself to give him a thorough burial . But first, I rustle through his clothes and body to find his purse but sadly, the money, if it existed, has been looted by other villagers long since. I could not understand why no one had bothered to steal the cloak till I noticed it was quite torn. I glance at the birch tree and notice scraps of the cloak pierced on various branches. Sighing, I roughly wrap his limp body in an old blanket and make quick work of preparing his body before shoving it into the flimsiest coffin I could find.
Finally, after readying that penniless traveler, I get ready to give some final words for the ceremony. Glancing around, I saw only the old woman and one or two curious villagers who just arrived. I compose myself and stare at the birch tree to attempt to get an idea of what to say when I spot a little kitten licking itself nearby. The kitten had flecks of green stuck to it.
With a sharp breath, the full picture snaps into my head and I recount the man’s tale to the audience..
The story of a merchant who travelled in the midst of a storm. Money, he possessed but wit not. He should have taken shelter as soon as he arrived but saw a little kitten stuck on a tree. He decided to be the hero and save the kitten. The wind was strong so he didn’t feel safe removing his fancier clothes so he kept them on his person.
This would be his downfall.
After freeing the kitten, his heroic moment was cut short when his cloak got stuck on one of the branches. He probably trashed to free himself but only got stuck more and more. Eventually, after a lot of struggle he freed himself but landed on his neck and died in an unceremonious crumple.
People cough awkwardly, seemingly disturbed by the tale. I set their moods at ease as I string together a series of words emphasizing his heroic spirit and courage. I get a bit carried away and cause a few members to weep empathetically.
I plant a simple marker to demarcate the grave. He was permitted to be buried near the locals out of respect after my tale. I inscribe on the gravestone:
Unnamed Traveler
Heroic man who lost his life saving a cat during a storm.
It ended up a bit haphazard but I was doing this for free so this was the best he’s going to get. The locals have dispersed by now save for the old woman who adjusts the sign to make it straight. She and I share a moment of silence before she leaves.
Cicadas chirp as I finally place the body in the grave uncharacteristically gently. I pat the last of the dirt on to the grave as I make my leave as well.
Wiping my brow, I rest after a job well done.
