The Burial of Astor Auclair: It took Brian seven Hours to dig his father's grave. It took him only twenty minutes after that to realize that if he did not work soon, he and his sister would die.
Memento Mori
It's supposed to rain when people die.
It's been nothing but sunny though. Sunny and hot.
There hadn't been even a touch of poetry to their family tragedy, just toil and sweat, and a bitter taste in the mouth. Where the pain of loss should have been was only dread and hunger.
Papa had left them little that would carry them past the next month, and now that he's in the dirt, there's no more excuse to do nothing. No more excuse for confusion. No more charity. A man must
work. The world will have it no other way. Not even God has a tear to shed for their father.
If Brian had shed tears, he couldn't tell them from the sweat beading off his brow.
If Therese had cried, she hid it well.
The Church had pitied them enough to give them a few prayers, a small patch for a grave and lent them the shovel to dig it. Therese, to her credit tried to help. But this was not for her to do. It falls onto the eldest to care for the little ones, for their youngers. That was the way of things.
Father did what he could, when he could. Now he's gone and so turns the wheel another cirque.
"Requiescat in pace, Papa. Perhaps the worms will weep for you. Maybe one day I'll have the chance to."
Au revoir.