Writing Prompts Week 22: A Story Written From the Perspective of Someone Dead

I remember this place. I used to come here all the time. Look, there, you can see me running around, smile on my face. I was a cute kid. Where did I even find that kite in the first place? Oh, that’s right.

My grandfather took me to the toy store for my birthday. I grabbed the biggest, brightest kite they had. It was such a pretty blue; shaped like a butterfly. He took me to the beach after so we could fly it.

My family liked to have picnics at this beach. Sometimes, for special occasions, we’d sneak over to the more private areas and have a small bonfire. My parents got caught once, when they tried it for their anniversary. They had to leave and went to the fair instead.

I loved the fair. Every summer the bright tents, shiny lights, and myriad rides pulled me to them like a magnet. I remember getting sick a few times. I ate too much cotton candy. I spent so much pocket money there. Days and days of chores and odd jobs at the neighbor’s, all for a good time.

Our neighbor was a nice man. Mom said he was from Europe. He had a big dog and a job that kept him away from the house most of the time. He’d pay me to take care of his garden and walk his dog. Sometimes he’d even have me come over and bake things for when he got home. It was a long time before I was big enough to properly walk the dog, though and not just get dragged to the park.

The park is a good place. Mom liked to take us for walks here, and I made so many friends at the playground. We’d run around and play tag or hide and seek. I got in trouble so many times for running off where my parents couldn’t see me. The walk always ended with us visiting Grandma at the cemetery next to the park.

This is where I was buried. Under the big oak tree I loved to climb. Mom and Dad knew I’d like it here. I can see so far. They come visit me sometimes. Mom always cries. I tell her it’s okay, but I don’t think she can hear me. At least I’m not alone, though. Grandma’s here too.

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