CrematedMan

 The priests had said prayer would save his mother, so Osar prayed for a year and a day. Dawn til dusk, beseeching shadow and sunlight. Oft late past the darkening hour he’d bowed his head and grovelled, bargained, begged. He had devoted himself to Dionas the Golden God. But Dionas hadn’t heard the prayers, or worse, refused to answer them. Even the gods couldn’t cure cancer. Osar wrenched another weed from the overturned earth. And for all of his devotion what did he have to show for it? A grave dug by his own hands and a dead woman to fill it. The Golden God might have been the city’s patron and its father, but O