Love After Death
The Graveyard
A lone figure strolled the graves one autumn night. He walked slowly past each gret grave, reading the names, the moving on to the next. The warm breeze tausled his hair, blowing it in every direction like the warm leaves under his feet.
It was a clear night, not one cloud in site. A good night for the wolves, as they'll be able to see with the moons bright rays to guide their way twords their prey.
The Graveyard was almost silent. The only sounds were the leaves dancing about the ground, the breeze flowing through the trees, the creatures of the night moving about and calling out to their mats, and the small sound of a light person walking through autumn leaves.
A cough echoed through the hot air as his body shook with the suden outburst. He paused and stared at the grave at his feet. It looked like it had been there since the French and Indian War.
An angel statue stood tall and proud next to the grave stone, representing the little girl burried there.
She was made of marble, had a beautiful knee length dress that had three flowers on the front and some lace on the bottom, dress shoes that, even on the statue, looked scuffed and worn. An angelic face that shoed she was not afraid and proud. Her long hair that, if were real, would have been so soft and smooth. Spread angel wings protruded from her back; so elegantlyu and gracefull.
He studdied her face, taking in the finest details. He noticed that the artist made sure she looked as life like as they could. Her eyes seemed to hold emotion, her hands hanging limply by her side in fear but not willed to back down as her posture revealed. The faint line on her cheek was not from weathering. It was meant to be there, meant to give off the impression of hurt in the girl.
He brought his hand up to the line and gently ran his fingers over it, bearly touching her cold stone skin. He could have sworn she flinched ever so slightly as he touched her stone cheek.
Slowly, he drew his hand away, letting it fall to his side and hnd there limply. He was marvled by the delicatcy of her face.
A suden burst of laughter statled him, causing him to flinch and spin around in time to see two teenagers, arms draped over eachothers shoulders, a bottle of whiskey in their hands, stumbling twords him at a fast pace.
Do you like it?
Should I keep going, or just stop?
It was a clear night, not one cloud in site. A good night for the wolves, as they'll be able to see with the moons bright rays to guide their way twords their prey.
The Graveyard was almost silent. The only sounds were the leaves dancing about the ground, the breeze flowing through the trees, the creatures of the night moving about and calling out to their mats, and the small sound of a light person walking through autumn leaves.
A cough echoed through the hot air as his body shook with the suden outburst. He paused and stared at the grave at his feet. It looked like it had been there since the French and Indian War.
An angel statue stood tall and proud next to the grave stone, representing the little girl burried there.
She was made of marble, had a beautiful knee length dress that had three flowers on the front and some lace on the bottom, dress shoes that, even on the statue, looked scuffed and worn. An angelic face that shoed she was not afraid and proud. Her long hair that, if were real, would have been so soft and smooth. Spread angel wings protruded from her back; so elegantlyu and gracefull.
He studdied her face, taking in the finest details. He noticed that the artist made sure she looked as life like as they could. Her eyes seemed to hold emotion, her hands hanging limply by her side in fear but not willed to back down as her posture revealed. The faint line on her cheek was not from weathering. It was meant to be there, meant to give off the impression of hurt in the girl.
He brought his hand up to the line and gently ran his fingers over it, bearly touching her cold stone skin. He could have sworn she flinched ever so slightly as he touched her stone cheek.
Slowly, he drew his hand away, letting it fall to his side and hnd there limply. He was marvled by the delicatcy of her face.
A suden burst of laughter statled him, causing him to flinch and spin around in time to see two teenagers, arms draped over eachothers shoulders, a bottle of whiskey in their hands, stumbling twords him at a fast pace.
Do you like it?
Should I keep going, or just stop?