Decay
A story that I have decided to write. More soon to come.
The wind swirls around the trees. It grasps fallen leaves and pushes through the dying grass. It is winter, and the breezes get stronger and colder as the days go by. No snow has fallen yet, so it remains a dry and frigid autumn.
The wind passes around the foliage, winding about carrying leaves and dust until it hit a small stone. It stood only as high as a knee, and was a filthy gray color. Moss clinged to the edges, suffocating from the daily lack of light. The stone's brothers stood nearby, though in worse condition then this. On the other side of this memorial, sat a figure wrapped in a strong coat. It wore thick clothing all over and a hood shaded the face, where an old, dark scarf covered everything but the eyes.
These eyes were shut at first, then a breath of wind brushes against the skin, and they open. They were a magnificent color of gray. The irises looked cold and ice-like, while the whole made you feel comforted and at home. Around the eyes were marks where tears had formed and froze away from the cold. The eyes closed again, and the person closed their garments closer to them.
Moments passed with similar inaction, the wind caressing each of the stones with a caretaker's grace. The trees had lost all their leaves long ago, so it was easy to make out the nests of crows that lived in them. Occasionally, they would call and another would respond. The place was abnormally silent. Around the cemetery, there were several rows of trees and beyond that there was a neighborhood of dying homes.
Afterwords, the figure stirred again and stood up. It seemed taller when it was lying on the grave, but now it only came up to the lowest branches on the trees. They stood and stretched, and then began a task of gathering the dead leaves that were scattered around. One by one, the creature put the leaves into its coat until it had gained a satisfactory amount. Then it left the cemetery. When it had gone, three crows flew from their nests and to where the person had lay, in attempt to absorb some of the heat that had remained behind.
The wind passes around the foliage, winding about carrying leaves and dust until it hit a small stone. It stood only as high as a knee, and was a filthy gray color. Moss clinged to the edges, suffocating from the daily lack of light. The stone's brothers stood nearby, though in worse condition then this. On the other side of this memorial, sat a figure wrapped in a strong coat. It wore thick clothing all over and a hood shaded the face, where an old, dark scarf covered everything but the eyes.
These eyes were shut at first, then a breath of wind brushes against the skin, and they open. They were a magnificent color of gray. The irises looked cold and ice-like, while the whole made you feel comforted and at home. Around the eyes were marks where tears had formed and froze away from the cold. The eyes closed again, and the person closed their garments closer to them.
Moments passed with similar inaction, the wind caressing each of the stones with a caretaker's grace. The trees had lost all their leaves long ago, so it was easy to make out the nests of crows that lived in them. Occasionally, they would call and another would respond. The place was abnormally silent. Around the cemetery, there were several rows of trees and beyond that there was a neighborhood of dying homes.
Afterwords, the figure stirred again and stood up. It seemed taller when it was lying on the grave, but now it only came up to the lowest branches on the trees. They stood and stretched, and then began a task of gathering the dead leaves that were scattered around. One by one, the creature put the leaves into its coat until it had gained a satisfactory amount. Then it left the cemetery. When it had gone, three crows flew from their nests and to where the person had lay, in attempt to absorb some of the heat that had remained behind.
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