Chin's Dying: A Short Story
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The smell of fresh cut grass and roses mixed with the sobs and cries of a young widow and her children. All others stood silent remembering this man they so respected. They remembered his walk. Chin held high. Shoulders back. He was proud. His music. Instrumental ballads that made him cry but no one knew for what or why. The silly way he ate. Head down. No talking. It just was the way he was. His favorite saying. Carved into the headstone. “Defender of the weak. Protector of the weary.” The memories of his love for a home cooked meal were the sweetest of all. He could never decide if his mother or wife fried a chicken better. No one cared anymore. They all just wished him peace. They wished him to find his people. The men he knew and loved.