People always hide their true selves, mostly from themselves. It’s my job to bury them. But “what does that mean?” I wonder to my self more often than I’d care to admit.

When travelers pass by me on the road, they avert their gaze and walk faster.

I feel like a killer.

When the Watcher tried to bury one of their dead selves, I asked why and they said I didn’t know where to find their corpse.

I feel like a joke.

Death is nothing to be afraid of, I’ve found. Death comes in many forms, and is rarely as final as many think. But no one wants to talk, no one wants to learn, no one wants to sit in friendly silence for a spell.

I feel like death. But I know better…