Tan Lake Cemetary

Tan Lake offered a tranquil sanctuary, a refuge from the cacophony of society and its relentless demands. Only the pristine elements held sway: the whispering wind, the crystalline water, and the enveloping embrace of untouched wilderness. The absence of man-made intrusions—no jarring docks, no crude boat launches—preserved its serene beauty. A testament to deliberate restraint, Tan Lake remained a pristine, unspoiled paradise.

On this fine afternoon, there was only silence, broken only by the heavy tread of a lone figure pushing through the dense undergrowth. A weighty and long duffel bag, seemingly filled with the burden of his mission, trailed behind him. A shovel, a foreboding implement of his intent, rested on his shoulder. His face was grim, a man driven by purpose.

He tracked the narrow dirt path until he arrived at Tan Lake Cemetery. Untrodden and remote, it was a consecrated space of perhaps twenty or so graves, some ancient, their weathered stones bearing the silent weight of a century past. An old, chipped white fence enclosed the hallowed ground. No one had been buried there in thirty years, save for a single, recent grave. The man wondered if anyone even visited the graves anymore. Perhaps, it would be a good thing if they didn’t. Rather convenient for the man, and partly an inspiration for this chosen dump site.

He began to dig in the heart of the graveyard. Clumps of coarse grass were flung aside, yielding to earth deeper and richer in hues. Each spade’s impact resonated, a heavy percussion followed by the ominous thumps of soil hitting the ground.

Perspiration was plastering itself to his back as he worked. The pit had to reach at least six feet, a seemingly never-ending task when accomplished by a lone shovel. He continued, unwavering, allowing rivulets of sweat to trace paths down his spine and torso. His eyes blinked back the sweat beads that were trying desperately to blind him, to stop him from his work.

As the chasm expanded and the mound of earth grew, the sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the scene in a breathtaking, golden tint. The man's shadow stretched across the pit, elongating with the fading light. The air grew cooler, and the wind settled into a slight breeze.

At last, his labor was finished. He glanced at his watch, two hours later. Not bad, he conceded. The shovel was discarded with a thud, and he wiped his blistered hands on his pants. Then his gaze landed on the substantial sack resting next to the freshly turned earth. A profound hesitation seized him; doubt made his gut turn. Yet, he had already decided. Already made up his mind. The deed must be done.

He grabbed the bag and heaved it closer to the hole.

He retrieved his water bottle from inside and took a long drink. Then he used the rest of it to wet a rag to clean himself up. After a few moments, the rag fell beside the shovel, completely covered in grime. Then he pulled out the extra set of clothes he had brought along- a midnight blue tuxedo. A hue she saw as the embodiment of chivalry. Night without the superfluous ‘k,’ yet he was still her savior. “My rescuing knight, just like in the legends,” she’d say softly, straightening my collar with gentle hands. “This dark suit will be our secret emblem.” Some knight he turned out to be.

Donning the tailored suit, he then combed out his hair with his hands. He polished his watch with his teal silk handkerchief before tucking it into his breast pocket. A robin’s melodic trill sounded in a nearby tree; he paused, absorbing his surroundings. The cemetery rested on a gentle slope, overlooking the breathtaking view of Tan Lake. A verdant ring of evergreens and cottonwoods provided a home for the teeming wildlife. Their vibrant chorus- a symphony of chirps, whistles, and rustles- filled the air. He inhaled the crisp scent of the lake water and fresh grass air. He could even taste it. The soft breeze caressed his skin, carrying the coolness of a perfect evening, a welcome respite from the heat of his work.

Returning to the bag, he deposited his filthy clothes, the rag, and the mud-caked shovel. A meticulously sealed note, protected within a plastic bag against rain, was placed carefully atop the contents. He removed two more objects before sealing the bag. Time for farewells. He faced the pit with the cold metal of a woman’s wedding band nestled in his hand. He raised the metal to his lips, his hands shaking, and pressed his lips to it.

"I'm sorry."

He then dropped it into the freshly dug grave. The loss weighed heavily on his heart.

He looked at the grave closest to him.

Anna Wesley

Born June 2, 1993. Died April 15th, 2022

What was it like? To be buried under all that dirt? Is it as heavy as the weight life throws on you? He looked back at the hole and the bag and was surprised to feel tears in his eyes. What was this? Regret? No, it had to be done.

He turned his back to the pit and faced the lake. A group of geese took off from the water, droplets falling from their webbed feet. Their cheerful honking echoed across the still expanse. A smile touched the man’s lips. The second object he had retrieved from the bag was in his hand. He gripped the handle of the gun tightly.

“See you soon, my love.”

A sudden, deafening blast sent the robin fleeing from its perch. The six-foot pit was no longer empty. A gust of wind brushed the abandoned sack in the now desolate graveyard. The sack full of photos, love letters, and wedding keepsakes. Inside was a note that read:

I dug the hole myself to spare others the burden. When you discover me, simply push my pack of things and then the dirt over me. I apologize for any inconvenience. Don’t worry about me. My wife and I are now at peace.

Cal Wesley