"We need to get out of here." I said. I ran the only way I wanted to go, Mom. I eventually got there, but she died. She look okay on one side, I flipped her over and her her body red and disigrated. I cryed lots of tears. Grandpa put his warm hand on me.

"Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them. George Eliot."  Grandpa quotes. I wipe my eyes. I start digging with hands, until the hole was big enough. I pushed her in, and put the dirt back. After an half an hour of more tears, my hands glow a strange pink.

"Woah." I said in awe.

"The prosses has begun." Grandpa said.