Nails
The accumulation of iron inside his body was tremendous. When poverty came knocking on his door, he would melt the iron and make nails out of them. He used to sell the nails to the coffin makers. Since he was a lonely man it bought him enough money for a week.
After many weeks, the coffin makers sold him a coffin and said - "This one's for your last nail."
After many weeks, the coffin makers sold him a coffin and said - "This one's for your last nail."
Labels: coffin, death, fiction, flash fiction, nails, poverty, short story, story, surreal