It was a clear, humid, and hot Texas summer. There was no breeze either. For the first time in seven months the world seemed still. Well, as much as it can be in a graveyard anyways. Marie tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. For the first time since the funeral, she was visiting her mother's grave.

Honestly, it was a surprise I made it here in one piece. It was hard enough to get in the car. Maybe it was a good thing I went alone. If she chickened out, at least no one would see her. No one living anyway. Marie slowly made her way to the grave sight, hoping it would take some more time to get there. It didn't work at all. It was a small family graveyard whoes second most recent grave was dug over 20 years ago. Procrastination aside, at a normal pace it took less than a minute to walk from one end and back.

"H-hey Momma. It's been awhile hasn't it?" Seriously?! That was the first thing out of my mouth?! This is what I get for  not visiting often enough. Tongue tied babbling.

"I've made top 25% in my class. UT is offering me free admission 'cause of that, so I think I'm gonna go there in the fall. W-we also went to a w-wedding too. You would've loved it. It was hard on Dad though, made him feel lonely."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Just like that, seven month's worth of events came spilling out out of her mouth. The more she spoke, the easier it became. The only time she stopped was to cry. By the time Marie had finished it felt like she spoke about seven years - not months. Thats it I guess. Time to go, it's getting late and I need tissues. Marie got up - when had she sat on the ground?- and dusted herself off. It was a good thing, she decided. I needed this. Rocking on her heels, she surveyed the area, trying to find the quickest route to her car that didn't involve stepping on graves,

"Ahhh, whatever. I'll just use the paths near the slave graves". It was always a sad reminder of atrocities the South committed. Committed to other humans. Even in death, the white plantation owners didn't stop. Only marking the graves with wooden posts, forgotten for eternity. Every memorial day, when her family came to clean the graves she always made it a point of giving respect to those slaves. Something she did today. When she had finished giving a moment of silence, there was something terribly wrong.

In the middle of those graves, where there wasn't anything before, was an old well.