The Burning Woman
Burning Woman Part 1
It’s been twenty years since death stole my life. Yes, my life is tainted. Like a dark impenetrable cloud death hovers over me destroying everything it touches.
I wish it would take me and end my torment.
I don’t know why I always return to the scene of my torment. I am like a moth enchanted by the light of the fire. I breathe in the familiar yet hated scent of freshly turned air.
A shadow falls across me and black tennis shoes catch my eye.
“Gogo what are you doing here? You know this is not good for your back,” says Amanda.
I can’t answer her. The pain in my chest threatens to stifle me. My hand works industriously pulling weeds from the ground. Two more pulls and the dull black granite is revealed. I have been away for too long.
My chest tightens further. My sight blurs and tiny drops of rain fall on the ground.
“You have to stop,” my granddaughter says pulling away the weeds from my deathly grip. Her hand lands on my shoulder helping me to straighten. More rain falls on my cheeks but my granddaughter wipes it away with a trembling hand.
I let her lead me away but not before I look back and see the inscription Morris J Moyo 1975-1996. A few meters to the left another stone lies covered with weeds.
Amanda glances back her eyes glazed with pain. “I will come back and clean up,” she says softly.