The Village – Part
One: The Squire
by David Crerand
The hinge on the coffin lid creaked rudely as he slowly
lowered the heavy mahogany cover back into place.
Over the last few years he had obsessively oiled the
damn thing but he could not eliminate the squeak. And
now, it seemed as yet another reminder of his overall
dissatisfaction with what his life had evolved into.
When he had been younger, he had been tremendously
good looking. It had been his good looks which had
attracted she who had sealed his fate. But, of late, he
had let his appearance go. He usually had a three, or
four days growth of beard, his hair was dirty and
unkempt and he had grown gaunt from infrequent and
irregular feeding. The lid dropped into place with a soft
thud. The blackness in the box was complete and yet
uncomforting. He lay perfectly still, his eyes wide open,
searching the darkness for one last shred of the self that
he had been. Searching for that self that he had loved
and respected, the self that had deserved eternal life. He
could find nothing.
The carriage lurched and rocked crazily as the driver
continued to put the whip to the team.
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