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Microfiction corner: Quarters for Flowers


The only sound in the cemetery came from the clink, clink of the jar of coins that I grasped tightly in my hands. I stopped at the first grave, and shuddered as my eyes fell on his name. Shaking, I reached into the jar for a quarter and slipped it into the slot on the headstone. His favorite song broke through the silence. It wasn’t enough. I put a quarter in each headstone. It was suddenly so loud as the songs clashed, but at least it matched the overwhelm in my head. I sobbed. Welcome to the jukebox cemetery.