It was well past midnight when he arrived at the cemetery. Quentin began searching for his burial plot, though he hadn't been there since he was dug up, something he was glad he didn't remember. There was something oddly intimate for the young dead man It was the last time his parents would ever acknowledge him as anything in spite of having returned to the world of the living. He opted for fun and friends since family had turned his back on him.
He came to his plot and stared at it, his date of birth, death and name. The words "loving son" inscribed on it. He was glad for that, it made what he was about to do next a little more difficult. He was going to steal it, his headstone. Was it wrong of him to not want to be remembered like this? He was enjoying his unlife more than he had enjoyed his life. He pondered what kind of a person it would make him if he defaced his own grave. He heard someone nearby, maybe it still wasn't the best idea to be in the graveyard given his status. He sighed and turned to face the person uttering, "Is it illegal if you steal your own head stone?"
He came to his plot and stared at it, his date of birth, death and name. The words "loving son" inscribed on it. He was glad for that, it made what he was about to do next a little more difficult. He was going to steal it, his headstone. Was it wrong of him to not want to be remembered like this? He was enjoying his unlife more than he had enjoyed his life. He pondered what kind of a person it would make him if he defaced his own grave. He heard someone nearby, maybe it still wasn't the best idea to be in the graveyard given his status. He sighed and turned to face the person uttering, "Is it illegal if you steal your own head stone?"