Sorry this is a little angsty and such. Buuuut, Gregstophe! So yaaaaay~
I feel like posting some stories, that I have been hiding (not posting because I keep forgetting.) And I promise I will continue to work on my other stories so they can finally see the light of day.
The old man passed by the numerous headstones, counting his steps, his breath forming clouds in the cold mountain air. His foot falls and hesitates at one grave in particular. He looks down in confusion, then laughs and brushes away the snow. It had been blocking some of the words, and became partially unidentifiable.
With the name now fully visible, he placed the single evening primrose on the snow before the headstone.
"You always come at the same time."
The old man turned around, an expression of shock on his face.
A younger man stepped forward and smiled, taking the hand of the older man. "How many years has it been?" he asked looking down at the grave.
The older man kept his eyes on the younger man, a single tear falling and dripping off the end of his nose.
"F-forty-two years…" he choked out.
"That's a while to be waiting." the younger man sighed. Snow started to fall around them as the younger man looked at the grave and the older man watched the younger man.
"You're sad. I can tell. You really miss this person, don't you?" the younger man asked, his smile softening and expressing sorrow.
The old man nodded, finally looking down at the grave. The snow was starting to pile up, obscuring the words on the stone again.
"They were z'e love of my life."
"And now, even in death." the younger man said.
"I just wish I could 'old z'em one more time, tell z'em I love z'em." the old man murmured. "Z'at's what I've been saying ever since I watched z'e body be lowered into z'e ground."
"Oh, Christophe…" the young man whispered.
The young man embraced the other, tears falling from his eyes and singing softly into the ear of the older man.
God has smiled upon you, this day…
A man came running up to the church. "Father, come quick!" he begged. The priest looked at him in concern, before following close behind to the graveyard out back.
"The old caretaker has died!" the man squawked.
The priest shook his head. "He's not the caretaker." he sighed, walking forward to look at the man laying in the snow.
"Then who is he? I always see him cleaning the graves…" the other man asked.
"His name is Christophe DeLorne. And he only ever cleans one grave." the priest explained. His fingers brushed away the snow from Christophe's face.
The old man lay in such an odd position. His right hand lay above the dug grave, closed about an imaginary object. He lay perfectly straight, not how one would normally collapse. It was as if he had fallen asleep in the graveyard. And most peculiar of all, was the peaceful smile on his lips.
"He is with the Lord now," the priest announced. "And with his love."
The two men bowed their heads in silent prayer. Then they carried Christophe's body away from the grave.
Here Lies Gregory Thorne
Shall he forever rest in peace.
1990-2026
I hope I got the math right...