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Fantasy Drama Funny

“We have to stay the whole night,” Mr. X said with the determination of a contestant on Survivor.


“The whole night!” Mr. Y protested. “Not the whole night! I haven’t agreed to this!”


“Well, we’re already here, so you might as well try it.” Mr. X shrugged.


“It’s so-o-o boring!” Mr. Y continued to behave like a little child tugging at his parent’s sleeve five minutes after they’ve arrived at an adult gathering.


“C’mon! It might be fun. You never know.” Mr. X dialed up the optimism.


“You’re crazy, man,” Mr. Y shook his head. “What are we supposed to do the entire night? Not a single soul here but us. Told’ya it’s not a good day to visit. We might’ve waited until the night of Halloween at least. There could’ve been spooky parties taking place. Kids in terrifying costumes…” His thought drifted off for a bit before his eyes lit up. “That could have been FUN!”


Mr. X looked around. He had to admit his friend was right. The night was unusually calm. Time seemed almost still; not even a whiff of breeze could be felt. He bet that if it wasn’t for the pleasant chirping of crickets, he might be able to hear the grass growing. The wide green field before them was looking quite peaceful under the generously cast silver moonlight. There was nothing sinister about the gravestones and family mausoleums. At best, the angel statues looked like the perfect museum exhibit of gothic art. At worst, the simple headstones resembled badly chiseled garden gnomes.


“Yeah, you’re right. Nothing much going around here, huh?” Mr. X sighed. “But that's kind of the point. To see what a graveyard looks like on an ordinary night.”


“So? We saw it,” Mr. Y crossed his arms in front of his chest, “and I was right. We haven’t lost anything by not coming here.”


“But don’t you want to get a sense of what it’s like to hang around?” Mr. X asked. “That’s supposed to be every person’s final resting place. I wonder who came up with the idea of burying the dead together. In ancient times all you needed was to dig a hole wherever and there you go – a grave! People did it in their own back yard. Must be hell of a lot cheaper.”


“Who came up with the idea? Not a very creative person, I’d tell you that much.” Mr. Y snorted. “They didn’t understand anything about design. Rows and rows of the same granite stones, and if you’re lucky your family might get you a statue or two. But always angels. Or mostly angels. God forbid they did something original. Let me know, if you see anything different. Although, I highly doubt it.”


“See, there’s one.” Mr. X pointed to a bigger tombstone on their right. There was a tall figure leaning over the grave – its face hidden under the hood of a long robe, its right hand armed with a scythe.


“Death? Really?” Mr. Y was unimpressed. “How innovative! Are they seriously still doing him with a robe and scythe? More like a Versace suit and custom-made Rolex. Ah, some people seem to be stuck in the prehistoric era still.” He approached the statue and peeked under its hood. “Yea-a-ah, they hadn’t even bothered to give him facial features. Not even a skull. See, the stone below is completely round.” He stuck his finger into the space where Death’s face was supposed to be. “I bet he won’t be too happy about it.”

“How do you know he won’t like it?” Mr. X turned to his friend. “Ancient superstitions are a classical choice. They never get out of fashion.”


“Just a hunch.” The friend replied. “Nowadays Death is a stylish guy. He doesn’t strike me as someone who’d go back to wearing the trashy robes he used during the bubonic plague.”

“OK.” Mr. X nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s say you’re right. What would you do differently?”


“At a graveyard?” Mr. Y’s rhetorical question propelled him into a monologue. “Let’s see. For starters, I don’t like the colors. So dull. Gray on green. And come winter – gray on gray.” He rolled his eyes. “Why not red, orange, and yellow? Combined with black. Yeah! That would be a cool look for a graveyard. And no more identical headstones. How the hell are you supposed to remember or distinguish which one is yours? I think everyone should do with their plot whatever they think fits best. Ideally, it has to be something the person resting there enjoyed while they were alive. Like, I would’ve loved for mine to be occupied by a bar, and a poker table. Could you imagine? Endless games and booze. That’s the life… or, well, death.” Mr. Y paused to enjoy the dreamy sequence in his head. “And yours? What should yours be like? I’d say a Ferrari. A big red-ass Ferrari, ain’t that right? If you want, you could throw in a Ducati by its side.”


“Really?” Mr. X was surprised. “You want your grave to remind you of the guy that shot you at the casino?”


“Ah, that’s water under the bridge.” Mr. Y waved his arm dismissively. “Besides, he can’t shoot me twice, can he?”


“Well, you’re wrong about me.” Mr. X threw him a stern look. “Being reminded of the car crash for eternity is the last thing I’d go for. I was a dumb piece of shit that believed he was invincible. Now I know there are other things, things worth living for… But it’s too late.”


“OK.” Mr. Y conceded. “What would you have then?”


“I think graveyards should be made more appealing and fun for the living. People tend to bury their kin and then they forget about them. Oh, to be sure, they do visit from time to time. But those visits start spreading farther and farther across time, until eventually they stop altogether.” He lifted his index finger like a teacher explaining a very important lesson. “Now, imagine if they were more like an amusement park, or if a fair was taking place every week – raffles, and camel racing, and the like. I bet that Lynn and Tyler would visit me then… And I wouldn’t have to hang around the house so much.”


“See, that’s what I’ve been telling you.” Mr. Y livened up. “Graveyards are boring. That’s why no one stays here. Hell, I didn’t even come for my own funeral. I found it too depressing.” He continued. “It’s far better at the house with my ma. Watching evening game shows and stuff. Sometimes I think she knows I’m there. Makes her feel calm.” He turned back to his companion. “You don’t want to be around your folks no more? I thought you liked it in your old place.”


“Well… Lynn has been seeing this guy for a while now.” Mr. X let out a heavy sigh. “Things are getting serious, and Tyler is growing up. They hardly ever speak about me anymore.”


“I’m sorry, man! I didn’t know.” He tried to emulate a pat on the back when suddenly something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. “Whoa! Yes! There it is! I can’t believe it!”


Mr. Y directed himself to a nearby gravestone, his smile getting wider and wider. The piece of grey granite itself wasn’t anything spectacular, but one could easily see that its borders were decorated with playing card symbols – hearts, clubs, spades, and diamonds.


“It’s not a poker table, but it looks like your ma knows you quite well.” Mr. X smiled.


“She does, she does…” Mr. Y’s voice started to tremble a bit. “Man, I didn’t expect to get that emotional. I thought being dead for years kind of roots this out of you.” He tried to compose himself. “Let’s look for yours. It should be around here somewhere.”


The two friends kept perusing the headstones until finally Mr. X stopped in front of a white marble one with black veins. The inscription read:


Xander Reed

(1985 – 2017)

Beloved husband and father


He stood completely still, facing his grave. After keeping silent for a few seconds, he spoke. “I don’t know what I expected.” There seemed to be a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It’s short and sweet. But they hadn’t even bothered with an original epitaph.” Mr. X started to walk away, “You were right. This isn’t fun– “


He had barely made half a turn, when his friend stopped him. “Hey! Wait! There seems to be something there. Do you see it?”


Tucked between the headstone and the marble flower vase next to it was what seemed like a handwritten note placed in a transparent sheet protector. Mr. X wasn’t keen on using his psychokinetic abilities, but this time curiosity got the best of him. He locked his eyes on the note and concentrated. At first nothing happened, but after a few seconds the sheet of paper started to shake violently like a scared bird trapped in a cage. Suddenly it flew out of its hiding place just to end up flat on top of the grave. The spotlight cast by the Moon revealed a messy handwriting done in blue crayon.


HI, DAD. I HOPE YOUR GOOD IN HEAVEN WITH GRANNY. SAY HI TO HER FROM ME. I’M OK. YESTERDAY I SCORED MY FIRST GOAL IN LITTLE LEAGUE. I WISH YOU WERE THERE TO SEE IT. MIKE SAID TO WRITE YOU ABOUT IT. HE HELPS ME PRACTICE AND HELPS MOM AROUND THE HOUSE TOO. HE’S NICE.

I JUST MISS YOU. A LOT. I’LL WRITE AGAIN. PLEASE WRITE BACK IF YOU CAN. I LOVE YOU DAD


The two shadows in the graveyard couldn’t produce tears, but the air around their faces started to glow as if filled with dozens of fireflies.


It was Mr. Y that broke the silence, “I thought you said they didn’t mention you anymore. You seem to be mistaken, my friend.” He grinned. “I hate to admit it, but you were right to make us come here. The place might not be my style, but now I know its purpose – it’s a communication hub between the living and the dead. And the living do visit. At least, until both sides still need the connection.”


“Yes–“ Mr. X said thoughtfully. “You know, I will start coming round more. I think I might be getting some new mail soon.”






October 28, 2020 01:09

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21 comments

Kristin Neubauer
09:49 Nov 07, 2020

This is very sweet, Bianka....and so perceptive. To think of these restless souls wandering the graveyard looking to commune with their loved ones. It makes me see cemeteries in a new light 😊

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Bianka Nova
10:11 Nov 07, 2020

Most cemeteries nowadays are more like parks really, so I thought "why do they have to be seen as creepy or ominous, when a visit to the graveyard could actually be a pleasant thing"... so another sweet story from me. But I promise that the next one will be a thriller 😜

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Kristin Neubauer
20:10 Nov 09, 2020

It's true! My dad still goes to my mom's grave everyday and I tag along when I'm in Connecticut to visit him. I think he finds so much serenity and peace in the cemetery. It's full of flowers, deer, wild turkeys, forest....you nailed it. I am looking forward to the thriller!

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Bianka Nova
11:36 Nov 10, 2020

I'm sorry about your mom. That cemetery does sound like a nice place. I'm glad that people are able to find there the peace in connection they need. 😊 By the way, I've just uploaded the new story. It might need some more work. I'm not really sure about it at this point, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. :)

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Yolanda Wu
09:13 Nov 06, 2020

I loved the dialogue between Mr. X and Mr. Y - it was so entertaining to read and really revealed a lot about their characters. However, after all the banter, there is the sad but heartwarming part at the end, reminding us that death can take anyone at any given time. The letter was really sweet. Overall, great story, Bianka! Amazing work. :)

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Bianka Nova
09:56 Nov 06, 2020

Thanks a lot, Yo! :)

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Yolanda Wu
09:59 Nov 06, 2020

You're welcome! Also, my friends totally all call me Yo! :)

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Bianka Nova
10:04 Nov 06, 2020

It's a cool nickname, came out naturally ;)

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Yolanda Wu
10:09 Nov 06, 2020

Haha, I'm glad you think so. It's either Yoyo or Yo, lol.

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Rayhan Hidayat
17:22 Oct 28, 2020

Yesss new story! Here’s the spicy stuff: >The protagonists being dead. At first I thought “Why are two people going to the graveyard for the heck of it?” but the reveal paid off. >The anonymous names; the characters come to represent humanity as a whole and the abruptness of death >The fun, lighthearted back and forth between the two. It’s a style I really like from you 😙 Here’s the things that could use some spicing up: >The dialogue tags! Instead of: “I thought you said they didn’t mention you anymore,” Mr. Y broke the silence...

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Bianka Nova
17:57 Oct 28, 2020

Means I lot that you've managed to find some nice things to say about this one. It started as a dialogue between the two, almost like a script. And then at some point I went "Shit, I need to have descriptions too." So, I did add some, but you can tell it was done a bit reluctantly. 😁 I know I can do better, but time pressure is a mood-killer. Thanks for pointing out the tag thing. I'll definitely look into it. I hope at least the dialogue ends up being OK 😊😙

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Rayhan Hidayat
18:05 Oct 28, 2020

What you have here works, but making it dialologue-only like a script doesn’t sound so bad either! Since the conversation is the best and most entertaining part of this story I can really see it working, especially with how well the two ghosts conplement and contrast one another. Not asking for a rewrite of course—just a thought.

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Bianka Nova
18:07 Oct 28, 2020

Thanks for the four cents 😙

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Rayhan Hidayat
18:18 Oct 28, 2020

Yes you’re gonna be filthy rich at the rate I’m commenting on your stories 😈

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Bianka Nova
18:43 Oct 28, 2020

Haha... if only it worked that way 🙃 😉 For now, I do appreciate the shout-out in your BIO. I do get surprising follows every now and then, and I do suspect that's where they come from 😙 I need to return the favor. Next goal for you - top 30 😉

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Ben Franklin
02:48 Nov 03, 2020

Nice twist, I wondered why he was talking about Death like an acquaintance.

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Bianka Nova
09:52 Nov 03, 2020

Haha, thanks! The reveal comes shortly after ;)

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Ben Franklin
15:40 Nov 03, 2020

It was a smooth foreshadow

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The Cold Ice
05:55 Nov 05, 2020

Wow wonderful story.Great job.Keep writing.Well writing.10/10 score.Very nice. Would you mind reading my story “Leaf me alone”

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