Honeymoon

It is not entirely dark. The moon above them is large and accusing. Headlights race past in the distance, behind the veil of trees. She, with her wedding dress hitched up above the knee, squints into the distance. She thinks she hears something, but she knows she has not. He, folding the sleeves of his dress shirt, wants to say something. Something funny, saucy, to lighten the mood. But his mind won’t start. In their hands, they grasp shovels. The shroud, hiding their shame, ripples in the wind.

How deep does it have to be?

He shrugs.

What does it matter? It’s not like we have a tape measure.

She is like a dog with a bone.

Up to my knee? Up to my thigh?

Why?

He rolls his eyes.

Are you planning to get in it?

She violently thrusts the shovel into the ground.

Be serious!

There is a pause. They haven’t even started, and yet she is already sweating. He pushes his shovel into the ground.

Just dig. When it’s right, we’ll know.

What does that even-

Just. Dig.

 

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