The Browbridge Brothers
by Wayne Scheer
Eli and Vernon Browbridge rolled Fat Man's body from the trunk of their rusty 1987 Grand Prix into the hole in the ground they had just dug.
Eli, older by a year, spoke first. "Sure makes you think. One day you're hot shit and the next day you're smelling like it."
Vernon nodded, but he wasn't paying much attention to his philosophizing brother. Moonlight slipped through the trees spotlighting the very area where they were digging.
"Vern," Eli interrupted. "Fat Man ain't gonna fit in this hole."
Vernon tried bending Fat Man's legs, hoping that the stiffening appendages might snap off. No luck.
They continued shoveling through tangled roots and dry soil. "We need some rain," Vernon said. "I sure like the way these woods smell in the rain."
"Yeah, it's like everything comes clean. Remember how when we was kids we'd run through the wet woods nekkid? Give Mama a fit."
The brothers Browbridge continued digging until Fat Man fit snuggly into his new home.
"You reckon we should say some kinda prayer, Vern?"
Vernon considered his brother's request. "Wouldn't do no good. Only prayer I know is If-I-Die-Before-I Wake. Too late for that."
Vernon topped off the grave with rotting leaves and tree branches. "I reckon that's as fine a grave as Fat Man deserves.
The two brothers stepped back to admire their work, threw their shovels into the back of their car and drove off to collect their pay.