My Uncle Jim
I didn't want to see him lieing there, dressed in his best suit. He didn't dress like that I said. He wore jeans and plaid shirts that smelled of old spice and licorice.
I cried when I finally was forced up on the predeu, he had these spots and no one would tell me they were from the disease. I thought he was in the process of shedding skin.
I cried again when they took him from the room, where are they going? I asked quietly. To the grave yard; I thought that must be like a prison, or a dump for lost uncles. I miss him still.
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