Going to the Cemetery (A Short Story) 

It all started the day my parents moved us to the cemetery to save money. We would hide here among the stones at night and beg out in the streets during the day. 

We had nothing, but the little we had decreased every day. On the streets, most people would ignore us as they walked by. I would walk along the path looking for someone who might at least speak with me or do anything but stare straight ahead as if I did not exist. 

No one chooses to sleep in a cemetery. Only us and the untold dead. 

I saw a former classmate walk down the street. I shouted and followed him. After several blocks he turned around to acknowledge me. I could see the horror and sadness in his face as he had looked at what I had become. 

It got worse overtime. We got less and less energy. We would beg closer to the cemetery and eventually just along the road right outside. Few people came by here, but we couldn’t make it much further. Our bodies wasted into our skeletons as we got more and more desperate for food. 

Sometimes we couldn’t even muster the ability to leave the cemetery. We just sat there looking into the city that had treated us as if we were already dead. 

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