I was walking home from school one day, not a particularly good day, but not bad either. The sun was shining through the wandering clouds, casting a patchy shadow across the day. I had just finished my research project at the school library. Anyway, I was walking home when I came to the graveyard at the end of my block. It was a pathetic graveyard, no bigger than my front yard, or anyone else's front yard. I'd never want to disrespect my remains by putting them in such an insignificant plot of land, but I suppose that's just me. I had never really thought about the graveyard before, but something about the squalid nature of the day transfixed my thoughts upon it. I couldn't help but ponder the question of what, and by what I mean who, was inside its easily hoppable stone walls. With this thought in mind, I jumped the wall, and my shit-kickers landed in the decomposed human-enriched soil below.

    There weren't nearly as many graves as I had expected, as I expected there to be many graves, but there were only about 20. I looked around, although it was hard to see, as the plot runneth over with all sorts of vegetation and decay, overcasting the shadows much more so than the clouds on the street were doing. Quite creepy. Yes indeed. But anyway, among the decay (of vegetation, and human corpses as well I suppose), the stone graves protruding out seemed to frighten a nearby cat, or maybe that was me, I'm not sure. But either way, I began to inspect the graves, and, more accurately, I began to look at the names, for familiarity purposes. The stones one through seventeen were of no interest to me, but then, just as I was about to leave, I saw it. It was as if I had been hit by the Volkswagen bus of Jehova himself. Well, not really, I just liked the fucker's name I guess. It said "Joseph Conrad." To this day I still don't know who that fucker is, but his names cool.

    Anyway, not long after that, I left the graveyard and resumed by journey homeward. My mind kept coming back to that grave however, to the point where it had consumed at least 7.3867% of my thoughts...weekly. I kept thinking about the name, or the grave, or the graveyard, or some other bullshit involving my journey into it. The percentage of my weekly thoughts concerning Joseph Conrad and his grave increased, exponentially, to the point where it consumed me night and day. I found this to be not only odd, but consistantly unsettling as well. So I made a vow to go down to the graveyard and do something about it.

    It was later that week when I decided to act on that vow, and headed down to that very same graveyard, about two weeks after my original visit. The day was very similar to the day of my original excusion. I would say it was the same day, if I had no concept of time. But I did, so I noticed how it was a very similar day, and went on with my visit. The graveyard seemed much smaller this time. Maybe I had grown significantly in those two weeks, I don't know. I went over to Joseph Conrad's grave, and just sat there. Sat there, just staring at his grave, then staring out into space, then back at his grave again. I sat there, thinking about Joseph Conrad, and who he was, and what he did, and then who he was again, 'cause I hadn't really finished that question yet, but I decided to move on anyway. I just sat there for what seemed like minutes, because they were minutes. About half an hour passed while I was just sitting, thinking about Mr. Joe Conrad when I decided sitting around a graveyard was both boring and disturbing. However, I did not want to leave the eery comfort of Mr. Conrad's rotting corpse, so I did the only rational thing...I decided to come back that night, exhume his body, take it home, shove it in my closet and live with him. It was the obvious thing to do in my mind, so I did it.

    The Skeleton of Joseph Conrad is in my closet right now. We have lots of fun. We tell each other stories, we make funny faces, we tell each other our deepest fears and loves. I (heart) Joseph Conrad's Skeleton. He makes me laugh. I hope we never get taken apart. Apparently there's some bug to do about this situation though. He was a famous writer or something (although I had never heard of him) and now that his body is missing, everyone around here seems to care. His famikly says they're hurt by all this, and that makes me sad, but I'm pretty sure they're lying. Joe thinks that too. Well, they'll never find him, cause he's locked up inside my closet. I suppose that would make him a literal and figurative skeleton in my closet. Ha! That was a good one. Joe thought of that one, he's so clever...for a skeleton.