In the spring, when the days grow longer and the reawakening sun melts away the bitter cold of winter, yellow poppies bloom. There, at the junction where the tree line of an ancient stand of long needle pines form a fertile triangle with the sandy marsh trail and the bayou shore, is where I buried you in the hard, frozen ground. The swath of wildflowers hide where I mutilated the earth to break through the ice, covering you with a bouquet of color as bright as your smile.
Thin spiral notebook 
As everyone else, I loved the word mutilated..it told the whole story in it’s own way.
But I also love the word Junction used the way you do, that crossroads, that “place’ as if he can see the place and the yellow flowers that grow over all the ugliness he made.
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Sad.
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I love this. I’m going to give it the benefit of the doubt and read it as if it isn’t about murder.
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A murderess waxing poetic at the “gravesite”. How endearing. lol. Total skin crawl. But the pretty flowers. Skin crawl. But spring… Great story, Tara!
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Dear pet or a grizzly murder… love the riddle here.
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What an amazing story. It did not feel constrained by the sentence limit. Well done!
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Murder made poetic and well-written. Thumbs up.
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Aching and beautiful. Well done!
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Beautiful….that body made some great fertilizer.
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That is so kind-hearted! Except for the murder part… (:
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