Source: Pixabay / DarkWorkX
Live adrift as unemployed for more than six years. Called pathetic by neighbors right and left. I know, I know!
I've sent cover letters to various companies, all of them hanging without answers. My debts are piling up. Every time I go home, all I see is my mother's scolding for never getting a job and tired of pouting.
Until finally one day; I walked casually home from the convenience store. The corner of my eye found a job brochure on a utility pole. As an unemployed person who never gave up, I immediately read the contents.
Tomb keeper. Why are you using a brochure? Ah, maybe the influence of technological developments. Hey, look at the daily wage! If you count it in a month, it exceeds the salary for the positions I applied for at leading companies.
So far, I've been very picky when looking for work. However, for some reason, without thinking I tore the flyer off the utility pole and took it home. Can't wait to call the number listed on the brochure sheet.
When I got home, I immediately took my cellphone and typed twelve numbers. 08910….
"Yes, hello. With whom?"
“My name is Eren. I want to ask if the job as a cemetery keeper is still available? "
"Ah, right. I'm Mr. Rod. Tomorrow's the first day of work, huh! His funeral in ... "
I'm stunned. Easy as that? However, I won't waste the opportunity. My debt must be paid off immediately.
At that time I did not realize that my position was not an ordinary grave guard. Ordinary in a sense… you know what I mean right? Cemetery for the corpse. But not. It may sound silly (or even crazy); I guard the graves of hope.
People have always liked to bury hope. I just found out there is this kind of funeral. But as far as my eye could see, the earthen mounds were thousands in number. Some were not treated because they did not pay rent. The greater the hope he buries, the taller and bigger his burrow. Sometimes they dig up the grave themselves. Sometimes I dig a hole because it's my job; the tip is not bad. Not to mention the daily wages of the land owners and the visiting pilgrims.
This afternoon I relax at the post while sipping hot tea. My life is settled now. A casual job, nothing unusual but the oddity itself. Hope funeral. People break up, give up their dreams, and other separations that end up forgetting.
The corner of my eye saw a little girl - maybe seven years old - with a hoist held in her right hand. Her shoulder-length wavy brown hair.
I was amazed. It was rare to come to the funeral pyre. What is he doing? I thought curious.
"Sis, what are you doing here?" I scolded.
"Want to bury hope," replied the girl dryly.
"Have you paid the rent?"
"But my wish is to be rich. I have no money."
I shook my head. Our rules are very strict. No tolerance. "Please bury hope elsewhere."
"What other place doesn't have to pay rent?"
"Need."
"Why do you have to pay rent?" It seems he is not satisfied.
"First, pay for land to bury hope. Second, so that your grave is well cared for. "
“I just need the first. Why take care of the buried hope? " the little girl squeezed the hoist she was carrying.
I took a deep breath. "There are people who, despite their hopes of being buried, make pilgrimages to remember again. There are also those who place their hopes here, that their graves will be demolished so that they can fight for more. "
“I don't want to reminisce or fight for it. Until whenever my family will be entangled in poverty, "said the little girl.
I'm sorry. I was poor too. I was unemployed and every time my mother came home grumbling for not bringing money. Today I feel good, spending a little money may be okay. Giving charity.
"All right, bury there your hope. Look for land on the outskirts only. I'll pay, "I said finally.
The little girl, whose face had been flat, immediately sparkled. It didn't take long - perhaps afraid that I would change my mind - he scurried over the mound of tombstones looking for a grave for his own hope.
Ten minutes passed. The little girl came back with her worn clothes soiled with dirt.
"What is your name?" I asked casually.
"Historia," he said. He asked carefully. "Hm ... if I take care of the hopes I buried myself, is that okay?"
Hm, as I thought.
"Yes," I replied shortly. “Come home! Later your parents will search. "
Historia ran like that until it disappeared at the end of the alley. I went back to sipping tea. The wind made me sleepy. It's okay, sleep only five minutes. It looks like no pilgrims will come either. Hoahm.
I don't know how long I fell asleep when the cell phone rang suddenly. I hurriedly picked up the phone. Mr Rod!
"Yes, what is it, sir?"
"How are you ?!" I was shocked. Only this time I heard him angry. Did I do something wrong? I haven't had time to hesitate to answer, Mr. Rod has continued his words.
"Earlier, there were pilgrims who reported that their siblings' hopes were missing. Though they want to dismantle it today to fight for it. Not just one, but three graves, all hope is lost in the grave! ”
"Hi ... lost?"
while amazed. I thought about Historia. Previously I neglected to let it go. I never thought he was a hope stealer. There was no sign of suspicion. Does he often steal hope elsewhere? I swallowed hard. This job is not as easy as I imagined..
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