Glistening blocks, moist from dew
and silhouetting an endless escape from reality, sat between visitor debris and
trodden patches of grass. Store bought stones resting in plots of family pride,
lilies of varying colour and life expectancy dangling precariously from painted
glass urns, and yew trees with leaves so vividly green they almost hurt the eye
to look at. A grey sky loomed overhead, as intrepid footsteps were slowly made
through the maze of past lives.
Leisurely, a small girl walked,
her hand held tightly by a dark haired man, a stubby hand pointing to dates and
names. A game, almost, was made of who could find the oldest plot, who could
find the strangest name, or who could find a connection to the world in which
they lived. Excited whispers and affectionate glances sullied an otherwise unbroken
peace; awakening the magic from within the engravings and throwing them like
wishes into the serene surroundings.
A projection of life; an assumed
play by play of the lives, with which they were toying, as they plucked small
details from fragmented life stories and sewed them together to reanimate their
corpses. Men, women and children surrounding them, tugging at their clothes and
begging for air. The childlike curiosity flitted across the girl’s eyes as she
invented entire lives, her hair catching in an unfelt wind and waltzing above
her head; spinning and curtseying to an unheard song.
Unsaid words clog at the back of
dead throats, choking the fragility from the young girl’s wisdom. Her eyes,
barely blue, widen at the strangulation of a century’s worth of suffering; a
hangman’s rope woven with secrets of corruption and greed. Sponge-like, she
soaked in the pain of hundreds and volleyed it through her tiny mind in order
to lighten the load. Twisting and searing, the memories scarred her from the
inside out; leaving silver lines of anticipation on her already burned body. A
spectrum of light burst from her pores, lifting her from her standing and
floating her into a realm that beckoned forward sympathy. The dark haired man,
her father, left standing, watching as she disappeared; lost to him forever.
Indifference marred his kind face, the lines of loss deepening around the eyes
he had given his first born, and propelled her further into the intent of
independence. Their shadows swimming in circles, a sparring of sorts, before
gliding in opposite directions; their souls immortalised in the glisten of a
cold morning’s mist.
