hated encounters

He always hated encounters like those. Glance over in their direction, even for a second, and they'd be on you. Treat them like they were invisible, and they’d leave you alone. He had looked at the man that had been making the ruckus. Not ruckus, that wasnt the exact word. But the man that had been loudly calling out to passerby’s. He had looked, and now the man was moving towards the gate, same as him, trying to intercept him. He had loudly slammed his trunk shut, it had been a subconscious effort but the threat of anger didn’t deter the man. Why would it? What did he have to worry about from some pampered looking prissy boy in white collar clothes?

He had always hated encounters like these. And he had eyebrows furrowed together in anger as he passed the gate, leaving the man who had come up to him to beg for money behind. He nodded, slightly at the man with the huge belly. It had been weeks since he’d been here. The man used to have a shirt. Now he was shirtless. The stone counter he was sitting by was empty. He wondered why there were no more flowers. He wasn’t going to get them today. He hadn’t expected them. There weren’t any. He hadn’t put any change in his pockets. The wallet with money was now in the trunk.

He walked past the lanes. The mud here seemed fresh. The lanes seemed narrower. Like more space had been taken. The air was fresh. It was only a little bit cooler than the outside, but any respite from the heat was welcomed warmly. He skirted around a lady that was also shuffling along one of the main lanes. He raised his head and tried to locate his destination. He wondered at the date. November. Maybe.

And then he was there. The flowers strewn by the grave had withered. It had been a while since anybody had been here. Or, a correction, since anybody had brought flowers. He read the dates on the black headstone engraved with golden letters. 7th November. 2018.

He looked at the mound that was covered with a carpet of grass. It was nice. Nicer than most of the graves here. But wasn’t that vanity? Who was he to judge. He fought the urge to clap his hands together and murmur their prayer. No, he wasn’t going to do it. He looked at the grave in somber silence. As he was about to leave, a twinkle of a thread caught his eye. He looked closer. There was a bud of a flower that was playing host to an ant. It was trying to crawl down it. From the bud, and he couldn’t place the second point, there was a thin thread of a spiderweb. He took out his phone and turned on the flashlight in one smooth motion. He laughed internally at his stupidity. The flashlight wasn’t any better than the daylight. It was useless in the daylight. He put it back in his pocket, stood by the grave a while longer and left with a smile on his face.