The Dead Do Not Sleep
Nov 6 · 2 min read
The ground had cracked open, revealing the mass grave. We should have been horrified, and some were. But they were the older ones. We didn’t care, and in the late hours, we slipped under the yellow police tape. We slid down the dirt as if riding a wave, and we jumped on the dead. We played soccer with the skulls and tag with broken hands. We didn’t care, but we loved every minute of it.
None of us stopped to ask who were the dead. None of us cared for color. Religion was dead and buried, and even the young bones didn’t make me flinch. I just drew circles in the dirt with one tiny finger. Did…
