Pequeno Conto em Inglês
Metafórico, chato e sem itálico

Few days back I dug up her bones.
Bare hands ripping trough wet mud and overgrown grass. Sweating as a bit of desperation built up on me. I have not a clue what was on my mind, that had lead me into it. I don't miss her... well, maybe that.. no, I don't.

The stained portrait on the non-engraved tombstone gave a glaring stare. It was clear, it said: "Decypher me". Damn, she was pretty. Heavy breathing as i begun to tire, fingers were sore, and the clothes were way past soaked.

Mind-Boggling pain as I struck my finger against the coffins hardwood. A few plastic rosesand a withered hail mary. And a lump of coal.... Which I had thrown as she descended on to the earth. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust".

Dragged it to the surface, to the truck's light.

I was glad to see a rather plain coffin. The blood mixed with the sweat and dirt as I tryed to wipe my forehead. I hadn't planned this at all, so no crowbar. A couple more wounds to my hands before I decided it'd be better to kick it open.

I could have sprained my ankle doing that, but I didn't.

I dug up her bones. But no ghost was there.