To all the Ones I Buried Before

I can feel the dry and dessicated soil crunching underneath the thick craggy soles of my heavy leather boots.

I can feel the cold wind scream through my body, chilling my skin, making my flesh ache, making my bones fragile.

Its an ill wind that blows right through me, as I march slowly and morosely through this arrogant and angry field.

I'm back again, this horrible fucking cemetery.


I swing through rows, I swing through columns. This place is a perfect little grid, full of imperfect little deaths.

I walk, head down, trying not to recognize the headstones of all the ones I've left behind, of all the ones I've survived.

I'm holding this one dying flower, this one wilting bouquet, this one lit burning candle.

I'm trying not to let the tips of my soft fingers vibrate against each headstone as I walk between them.

I'm back again, this horrible fucking cemetary.

I find myself standing in front of a stone. I promised myself it would never be like this. I swore to myself I would never see her name etched in front of me. Not her, not like the others.

I fall to my knees, petals fall from my grasp, landing with a sigh on the soil.

I fall to my knees, wax spilling on my wrist, landing with a sizzle on my unprotected flesh.

My knees dig deep into the soft and wet and forgiving soil.

I'm back again, this horrible fucking cemetary.

I can feel her, my love, standing behind me. Her raven tresses and her alibaster skin. Her sharp features, her facial scar, her unseeing eye. Her thick and sensual lips opening to reveal deadly painful teeth and a breath cold and not of this earth. Vapours trail from her as she speaks.

"Look at you, kneeling in front of another one. How many have you buried here?"

I trace the granite in front of me. Three sharp painful letters. M. E. -

My hear stops, my hand shakes.

"I never wanted this to be like this," I gasp, a painful confession escaping me.

The woman behind me lets loose an angry little laugh, "shut the fuck up boy. This is life. It will fuck you. You do what you need to survive, or you die with the rest of them."

I sigh. I look. Left and right. Every stone I see is carved with the names of the loves and lives and women I've had to bury here.

I'm back again, this horrible fucking cemetary.

" but this one," I cry.

I feel a cold and dead hand rest on my shoulder.

Her mouth opens, I feel the air chill around me. "Just like the rest of them."

I shake and I shudder. I feel the weight of finality rest on my shoulders.

"And you? You're so different. So different. You're the angel they pretend to be. You're the death they all expect of me. What of you?"

Another cold and deadly laugh. "What about me boy? What about me?"

My words choke and die in my throat. I shove them out like a dying mother gives birth to another stupid orphan

"And what of you?" I groan pointing at the next open lot. Fresh dirt turned, blank marble, flowers ready to wilt in the cold. "And what of you?"

I feel her lean closer her icy breath against my ear, her cold words against my throat.

"Oh you think that's my grave?" she laughs again, sharp and angry against me.

Everything falls quiet, silent, frozen, dead.

Her sharp laugh shatters everything.

"Ever think for a moment this one is yours?"

I'm back again, this horrible fucking cemetary.
Posted in Stories
by krowface
2010-05-06

Comments

This one -seriously- pulled me in. Excellent.

brokenreality - 2011-02-07

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