When I sat down to write this drabble, I knew I wanted to use the word "grave" for inspiration, but I didn't want it to be a typical story about someone visiting a grave. I hope I pulled that off.
The gravesite was nicely manicured. Visitors tended to feel comforted by well-tended cemeteries.
Stan shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his eyes wandering over the headstones surrounding him.
“Is it weird that I’m here?” he wondered aloud, knowing that no one else was there to hear him. “I told my best friend about this, and he laughed.” He knelt down in front of the headstone, tracing the name with his fingers. His name. “What can I say? I’m going to be buried here someday. I want to know what it’ll be like for my family to visit me.”