Granite Vigorously cleaning the dead grass and dandelion petals from the rock, the girl's hand roughly grazed a jagged edge. As he quickly pulled his hand back to examine it, he saw what his hand had placed on. The upper right corner of the child's headstone was broken. He took a moment to watch his blood spread into the cracks and crevices of the rim. He examined the mound in front of him and around it and located the piece. She reached over and picked it up, her knuckles growing whiter by the second as she gripped the severed edge tighter and tighter. Then he spotted the culprit: a rusty old lawnmower and an overweight, tactless nimrod with gray hair crowning it. With a rush of adrenaline he threw the stone edge behind the tractor. Did this man have no respect for the souls he had so violently severed? The stone fell three meters before and the man was unaware of it. The girl, innocent and full of anger, fell to her knees in front of her deceased brother's tombstone. The only way he will ever see it. But only one tear fell throughout the night. She wasn't so much angry as she was stunned at the idea that even though he was her older brother, he would always be preserved in time, like the granite above him, as a four-day-old baby. He thought about it as he shifted his gaze to the huge slab of white stone near the road to the left. This was the children's saint, with most of the children buried around it. When her family came to the gravesite when she was in elementary school, she loved climbing on the smooth stone and hearing the sparrows in their tiny trees that dotted the plateau of the dead. He chased this thought away with a cold shiver as the first drops of new rain fell on his shirt. Her eyes showed that she was inattentive as she knelt down, slowly outlining the word "Joey" with her left pinky. She had always regretted that she had never felt any real depression over his death, but how could she? It wasn't even the blink of an eye in his parents' eyes when it happened.