Dear Future Historian,
I need to talk, even if it’s been 13 years.
At the cemetery. Everyone is dead here. Everyone but me. A
cat suddenly appears from behind a grave. I keep walking. At some point, I reach
John's grave.
‘Hi mate, I told you I'd come'.
I take off my shoes. Graves are holy ground. I place the
sleeping bag on and sit down. Next, I take the bottle of wine that I had
brought and open it.
‘Cheers John'. I drink a bit, then I get up, lift the
sleeping bag, and pour some wine on his grave.
‘Cheers’.