Here's a not-quite-Three-Word-Wednesday story. The words were Grieve, Beacon and Kindred. I got one word in the story, one in the title and the last is left implied.
They told her it wasn’t a normal way to grieve. She stretched out on her brother’s grave, languishing in the grass. Last year it was dirt. The feel of the cold grass under her back reminded her of days when she and Rick played under the big tree; there was one like it in the cemetery. She liked to put her feet on his gravestone, the smooth cold rock cooled her soles. Sometimes she traced his name with her big toe. She read him her favorite books; once a whole novel. She was there all day and her parents came there even though they hated coming there and demanded she get in the car, it was late. She left the book on the stone and said she’d be back soon.