by Marion Lougheed
Damien huffed as he worked his shovel. The night was cold against his flushed cheeks.
He laid a diamond necklace on his growing pile of goods. Though dusty from the grave, the diamonds glittered like teeth.
One grave left to pillage. Nothing valuable here, only a broken pipe beside a grinning skull. A rat poked its snout through an eye socket.
“Hey,” the groundskeeper shouted. “Grave robbing’s illegal!”
“Not on purge night.”
“Ah, that’s right.” A shot rang out and blood bloomed across Damien’s chest. As he fell, a hand scooped up his collection. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting.”
Marion Lougheed is a writer, editor, and cultural anthropologist whose words have been published in print and online by Gypsum Sound Tales, The League of Canadian Poets, and The Capra Review, among others. She grew up in four countries and currently lives in Canada. Twitter: @MarionLougheed