Prologue
Now listen here, Darlin’, cause I ain’t about to be getting sentimental with you. The cancer took you, you died, and I buried you out among the sunflowers. Your grave ain’t much and neither is the husband you left behind, but they’re beautiful, those flowers, just like you said they’d be.
Nobody came to your funeral. Ironic, that. Nobody was the only one who came to your funeral. Nobody and no one else came. Not because you weren’t a good person but because I ain’t one now, and I got no intention of being. I don’t. I also don’t know how many words I’m gonna be able to pen before my writing hand gives out. Fingerprints are still a little sore and I’m afraid of bleeding all over my goodbye note.
A sappy man would say you were my rock. That’s bullshit. Rocks don’t make country pie the way you did. They don’t know how to make a stack of walls warm and they sure as hell ain’t all that much fun to make love to. But I will say this, you were as solid as a boulder, and now that you’re resting with ’em, I got nothing to lean on, so I’m leaning forward.
You were mad at me, I know, in those last years. Mad cause of the moonshine but madder cause why I kept brewing it and who I was selling to. I can’t blame you for being mad, but I can’t apologise either. When you were around, I had no other way of punching up without fearing somebody would punch down at the both of us, but now you’re beyond hurting and I’m beyond healing.
So, I suppose this is more of an apology than a goodbye. You ain’t gonna love me by the end of this, but this is something that’s been in my heart a good few years longer than you, my dear. Rest in Peace. I might see you soon, but I hope not.
- Joe
![Werewolf Hollow [GALATEA DATE TBA]](https://cdn-gcs.inkitt.com/vertical_storycovers/ipad_76bbf380fa2e8dc2f70694197487ab81.jpg)
Author’s way of storytelling is so good, I suggest you join NovelStar’s writing competition this April.