--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial
The crows fly over the tombstone at dusk, as if to alert a guest which would arrive. A cry reminds me of what the funerals sounded like--wailing turned into music, mourning turned into enlightenment. Only then did my hands started to weigh down, with jasmine pedals flying in the wind.
A few peachy streaks kept my head up in the clouds; color was necessary to bring out life in such a tormented place. Tangled branches threatened to trip me as I made it to the grave--while fresh, dust collected on her name and the dates of her life. But then again, it would pass, like she did.
As I kneeled down on the premises, I focused on the emptiness in front of me. Stretching out my hand, I felt an abnormal coldness, but nothing solid at all. My other arm shaking, I held out the flowers as an offering, but the wind strengthened, and I found them falling into the void,
Who would rob such a grave? I thought, sniffing at the otherwise earthy ground. She was buried with her clothes on, and a violin, but not much else. To offer jewelry to the ground was inviting grave robbers who knew only of treasure, not of sanctity. But it made me impatient.
Instead, I stood up and hovered my leg above the empty space. A minute of silence passed, only broken by the birds cawing and a few footsteps here and there. Why would they desecrate my silence? I thought, but then found a trembling.
The earth cracked and a ghost emerged, with slender fingers and stringy hair. The swirling bits of wind formed a corporal spirit, but the only thing which made it real were the wilted vines around her hair. A feigned elegance, like crowning Jesus with thorns, only for him to be mocked.
Jesus, is that her? My teeth clacking, I wanted to run away, but my body was more fascinated as this being.
