Love Makes Us

a postcard story about a love that will never die

You buried me under the porch out back. Still I came back to you, smiling like a dented sickle moon and smelling like wet earth.

So you buried me out in the corn, in the far clearing where the crows clamour at the sky. Still I came back to you, mouth overflowing with dark feathers and muttered secrets.

So you burned me in the pit where we take the diseased cattle and scattered the ashes in the quarry. Still I came back to you, a mess of blackened meat and damp bones.

This is what love makes us: shambling things, full of carrion secrets and grave dirt and crooked smiles, moved by forces beyond our understanding.

This is what love makes us: a mouth that cannot say goodbye.

I promised that my love for you would never die.

And love makes us keep our promises.

Short story written by Peter Chiykowski

Story prompt taken from a photo by Michael Marsh