And there it was suddenly. The soft thud of feet contacting with sand within a hollowed-out square in the earth. Even though the grave was still only four feet deep, it made a different sound; not an echo, but something else. An embraced thud, a surrounded thump. Perhaps the same sound Ronald's body would make once we reached the desired six-foot depth and tossed him in like a sack of potatoes. But unlike potatoes, this sack had only two eyes and a heart and a mouth which used to speak the same language as his fellow human beings. Unlike potatoes, this sack was filled with consciousness and thought, inspiration and dream, desire and disappointment. Unlike a sack of potatoes, this package to be tossed into the hole in the ground used to be my best friend.
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