Today upon this Drabble Wednesday we come not to mourn, but
to unearth those things that should stay buried…
Dead and Buried
The hour grew late, and the church bells chimed their dirge.
I watched the funeral procession slowly climb the hill to the graveyard, the
closing rays of sunlight dancing with lengthening shadows. The mourners were
few: the pallbearers hoisting the shiny mahogany casket, the dry-eyed widow,
and a few backstabbing family members. A pitiful parade, but one to be expected
given the decreased.
You see, I was a most horrible person in life, cruel,
ruthless, vindictive. I took great pleasure in tormenting any hapless creature
that crossed my path.
That shall not change. In death, I will truly haunt them.
~*~
Nevermore
One black feather.
It floated with the puff of winter air, a capricious thing,
and settled tenderly upon the cold ground.
A raven’s feather.
Shed from the wing of a soaring bird, fled from war and
towards a far distant shore. In its wake came a fading echo; the keening cries
of the dying and the lasting silence of the dead. It preceded the howling
tempest…
Soon, the sun peered from behind the clouds; the storm had
passed. In its aftermath the land remained, blanketed with snow, the shroud to
cover the decaying bones and the crumbling ruins of kingdoms.
~*~
Waiting
Dust, earth, smoke and bone.
Interred deep, below the soil, overgrown.
I still breathe, this timeworn air, here in my box, thin of
flesh and coil of hair.
They called me mad, called me witch. Bound me up, left me to
twitch. It didn’t work, no, not one tiny bit. For I’m still here, though worse
for wear, I’ll admit.
I’ve been patient, I’ve been calm. I believe I’ve shown some
aplomb. Yes, through the ages, I’ve lain
so silent. Nary one peep, nothing violent.
But my time is coming, I can feel. Soon from my grave, I
will steal.
© A. F. Stewart 2016
All Rights Reserved
