All Stories, General Fiction

Him by Pamela Hudson

typewriter

One day I plan to dance on that asshole’s grave. The thought of twirling to music in celebration of his death soothes my soul. Sometimes you see men in movies peeing on graves of people they don’t like. I could pee on his grave, but it’s harder for a woman, and a little undignified. Dancing, having a party, celebrating life that still courses through my body while he is buried beneath me seems more of an affront. If I peed on his grave I would leave part of me with him.

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