The Seeping Wound
The black cloak of night swept across the burial ground, leaving the only light to be that of the crystal eye of the moon. Fall leaves danced as a slight breeze led them into their steps, only to be disturbed by the howling monster picking up speed and causing them to thrash about as if hemorraging. Once settled, a night hawk could pick up a slight crackling sound in the far distance; that of sticks snapping under the weight of something...or someone, more likely.
Indeed, a pale girl in a dress and hooded veil the color of the night seemed to float across the realm of dead bodies as if in a dream. In her hands she held a box, a box of garnet with golden stones set into its frame. The ngiht hawk pondered with its seemingly trivial mind what was inside the garnet box...and what secrets might lay within it. Yet, the hawk's apparent wonder went unnoticed by the girl. She drifted along the blades of dew fresh grass silently, as if afraid to wake the dead themselves.
Time seemed incredibly slow to the impatient hawk as the girl wandered through the burial. Finally she reached what appeared to be her last destination; in front a tall tombstone of an angel with a serpent wrapped around its ankles. She placed the box gently in front of the angel and its underfoot companion as if its contents were made of the most precious gems and stones.
The hawk heard the pale girl mutter something under her breath. Whether it was to herself or the strange grave stone, the hawk did not know, but all it could tell was that it sounded something like, "please take care...", and then the words faded, swallowed into the dense fog of the night.
The girl lowered her veil, revealing eyes the color of the box itself, and fair features that seemed as if they would disappear if one did not gaze upon them for eternity. She opened the box, unveiling its contents as she had with her face. Inside was many shattered pieces of a vase, a vase of the lightest egg-shell blue that could ever be concocted.
What could be seen from the shards of the vase, it had once been intricatly designed...obviously hand-crafted...maybe even years of work put into its creation. Yet, however many hours, weeks, or years the artist had gotten to know his or her work, it was now completely devasted, completely shattered, and completely unmendable.
Slowly the girl began to dig a hole into the soft soil in front of the grave stone, a hole large and deep enough to fit the garnet box inside. Cautiously she placed the seemingly precious box inside its minature grave, and began to pile the earth on top of it, as if sealing a promise that was never really kept in the first place.
Then she reached inside a pocket and pulled out a very flat, smooth stone. Gazing at it for only a moment, she stabbed it into the earthen ground, not too far from where she had buried the box with its broken vase contents.
Standing up and brushing the dark soil off of her dress, she took one last backward glance at the minature grave she had built for her broken vase, then slowly turned away. As the girl did so the night hawk noticed a glistening drop running dow nthe girl's check, unmasked only by the moonlight.
As when she came, the night hawk heard the distant crackles of twings and leaves being stepped on, until it finally faded so far into the distance, that they could no longer be heard.
At her leave, the hawk swooped down and landed next to the grave in the form of a human. Her hair a dark brown, and her eyes a deep golden amber. Falling down in front of the tiny grave, she chocked back a sob rising in her throat. The broken remnants of a long fracturing frienship had been put to rest, and all she could do was sit high above her tree, where she'd always shunned the world, and observe a death before her own eyes.
Indeed, a pale girl in a dress and hooded veil the color of the night seemed to float across the realm of dead bodies as if in a dream. In her hands she held a box, a box of garnet with golden stones set into its frame. The ngiht hawk pondered with its seemingly trivial mind what was inside the garnet box...and what secrets might lay within it. Yet, the hawk's apparent wonder went unnoticed by the girl. She drifted along the blades of dew fresh grass silently, as if afraid to wake the dead themselves.
Time seemed incredibly slow to the impatient hawk as the girl wandered through the burial. Finally she reached what appeared to be her last destination; in front a tall tombstone of an angel with a serpent wrapped around its ankles. She placed the box gently in front of the angel and its underfoot companion as if its contents were made of the most precious gems and stones.
The hawk heard the pale girl mutter something under her breath. Whether it was to herself or the strange grave stone, the hawk did not know, but all it could tell was that it sounded something like, "please take care...", and then the words faded, swallowed into the dense fog of the night.
The girl lowered her veil, revealing eyes the color of the box itself, and fair features that seemed as if they would disappear if one did not gaze upon them for eternity. She opened the box, unveiling its contents as she had with her face. Inside was many shattered pieces of a vase, a vase of the lightest egg-shell blue that could ever be concocted.
What could be seen from the shards of the vase, it had once been intricatly designed...obviously hand-crafted...maybe even years of work put into its creation. Yet, however many hours, weeks, or years the artist had gotten to know his or her work, it was now completely devasted, completely shattered, and completely unmendable.
Slowly the girl began to dig a hole into the soft soil in front of the grave stone, a hole large and deep enough to fit the garnet box inside. Cautiously she placed the seemingly precious box inside its minature grave, and began to pile the earth on top of it, as if sealing a promise that was never really kept in the first place.
Then she reached inside a pocket and pulled out a very flat, smooth stone. Gazing at it for only a moment, she stabbed it into the earthen ground, not too far from where she had buried the box with its broken vase contents.
Standing up and brushing the dark soil off of her dress, she took one last backward glance at the minature grave she had built for her broken vase, then slowly turned away. As the girl did so the night hawk noticed a glistening drop running dow nthe girl's check, unmasked only by the moonlight.
As when she came, the night hawk heard the distant crackles of twings and leaves being stepped on, until it finally faded so far into the distance, that they could no longer be heard.
At her leave, the hawk swooped down and landed next to the grave in the form of a human. Her hair a dark brown, and her eyes a deep golden amber. Falling down in front of the tiny grave, she chocked back a sob rising in her throat. The broken remnants of a long fracturing frienship had been put to rest, and all she could do was sit high above her tree, where she'd always shunned the world, and observe a death before her own eyes.