The shovel burst through the foreboding soil with a thud.

A powerful hand was gripped around the handle. Farther up the arm connected to the hand, was a man.
He stood at a towering 6'4"
Everything about him said mean,
Except for the tear on his cheek,
And the whimper of his eyes.

The shovel went down, and soil came up. This happened again and again for a very long time. His pace was slow, but only because he couldn't bare to finish.

Eventually enough soil was above ground. And he knew the time had come.

One more solemn tear fell accross his cheek as he lowered his son's limp body into the ground.

Thoughts rushed through his head, but he ignored them. It was all too much.
He had made the choice to pay rent instead of buy a casket and it was eating him alive, but it was too late now.

He began to shovel dirt back into the hole. Faster this time. He held less power though. His hands shook, his body trembled, and his soul cried as he saw his son for the last time.