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The laugh breaks the silence of the graveyard. With quick steps the boy runs past the gravestones, picking up the flowers left behind by those who were left behind. His disheveled hair bounces on the rhythm of his almost dance-like moves. The cacophony of the noise which the crows in the oak trees make fuels the boys enthusiasm. With firm strides, which his upper body can hardly keep up with, he brings the flowers to the big heap he gathered in the open grave in the north-east corner of the cemetery.
The boy tilts his head, blinks and he parts his lips mimicking an emotion somewhere between happiness and admiration. With determination he steps onto the overturned bucket and then onto the gravestone placed in front of the grave. With dedication he jumps into the air, a broad smile on his face. He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them and a second later he disappears in the grave, where the flowers catch him before covering him completely.
Then there is silence as the last of the laughter and crows calls fade away into nothingness.
…
“HAHAHAHAHAHA”
The laughter sounds all of a sudden as the boy surfaces while throwing flowers in the sky. Eyes wide open, lily leaves in his hair and a smile that stretches far into his cheeks.
“Death! I believe in death!” the boy yells.
“In the perspective of our own little lives, death is an unavoidable, insignificant event at the end of the line. Death does not matter when viewing it through the window of personal life. In this perspective, live matters, but it’s opportunities are now over. But in the grand scheme of things, death is a beautiful source of inspiration. It’s a moment to celebrate the time that was given, not a time to grief over that what never was. Our lives are filled with opportunities to teach our kin, but in our death we teach the next generation some of it’s most valuable lessons; How to not be us. Dead.”
...
His wife had told the gravedigger she heard yelling on the cemetery grounds. He pulled the collar of his coat up high and with a shovel in his hand he stepped past the gravestones towards the commotion. As he saw the boy dancing around the grave, he heard his voice over the howling winds.
“Death provides us with the chance to be better. And while we often end up falling like those before us and we find ourselves running in vicious circles of life and death, it is the fault of our design of life that we keep falling, while death allows us to break free from what keeps us down.”
“What are you doing here, little boy.” The gravedigger asks as he put a hand on the shoulder of the boy. The boys looks at him and tells him he’s celebrating. Ignoring the absurdity of the boy’s statement, the gravedigger asks him where his parents are.
“They are dead.” The boy says. “Where are yours?”
“They are dead as well.” The gravedigger says with a sad voice.
“Good.” replies the boy, with a caring smile. “Then life is now ours to shape.”
“Come. You shouldn’t be here.”
The gravedigger takes the boy by the hand and leads him off the graveyard. The boy follows while laughing and chanting.
“Death! Death! Death!”
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