Zillon hesitantly patted the tombstone he stood before, fingers shaking. He didn't want to be here or rather, he was afraid to be...
Beside him, his mother stood and behind them were Celeste and the kids...they were three years old now and somehow, Celeste had got them into practically forcing him to come here.
'Grandpa...' they had said, that evil, little smile smothered across their face. He really didn't know how such devils slipped from an angel's womb and he would never know.
These kids were cute and funny, but they were hard to control. They ran around the house as though it was a track field and threw his ornaments as though they were balls. Sometimes he wished he could throw them out, but then he remembered that they were his kids and moreover, he was the one who spoiled them.
