They are Coming. Short Story.

The sun was shining fiercely, the day was hot, not as hot as some, but enough to make you sweat. She paused as she wound her way through the graves, it seemed almost perverse to be here surrounded by death on such a beautiful day. A reminder that life continues whether you live or die. All around the graveyard there were trees and plants, reminders of life. Blooms of colours where flowers had been laid to rest above the final resting place of others. The day had a surreal quality. Everything was so bright, so spectacular. The colours seemed more real than they ever had before, as if the colours she knew previously were only shadows of themselves and here she was seeing who were casting the shadows. A sprinkler misted water over the grass, preventing it from dying like the occupants of the graveyard had. The mist cast a rainbow, it hung in the air, promising life to those who could find its end. She took a deep breath of the clear air and continued on her way. She would be there soon. She passed the mausoleums, running her hand gently along the outside. It was still cold despite the sun’s intense heat. It was cool and soothing, she felt a shiver run along her spine, letting her hand drop from the marble surface, she felt the heat rush in on her again, as though she was no longer under its protection. Everywhere she looked tombstones were covered in decorative wreaths and flowers. A few at the back were empty of adornment, looking lonely and solitary amongst the colourful boasts of the others. She considered moving some flowers to them, then wondered if that was disrespectful. Glancing at her watch, she discarded the idea. She didn’t have much time left. As she walked in her sandals, she could feel the grass pressing against her toes. She quickly looked around, then bent and removed her sandals, carrying them in her hand. The grass was cool and pleasant. She continued her journey, feeling some trepidation as the final destination appeared. The tombstone was slightly larger than those around it and more ornately decorated, an angel sat perched atop the stone, looking sadly towards the ground, its arms bent upwards, as though calling the soul of the dead toward her.

Facing the tombstone, she smiled, then apologised for not visiting sooner. She spent so little time here. She wished she had longer. She looked up at the statue, and saw with some surprise, the angel was holding a bouquet of dead roses. It seemed perverse, but she was feeling tired. She would have to go soon, the day was getting hotter and sweat began to run down her back in thin rivulets. Her dress wasn’t as cooling as she had hoped. Carefully, she kneeled. She was still alone in the graveyard. Slowly she lay herself down atop the grave and positioned herself carefully, she would be lying on his body, if he were here now, his hands would be wrapped around her, giving comfort. She closed her eyes, then opened them. It was so nice here, so peaceful, she could feel herself drifting into a slumber. She looked around the graveyard again, the grass was brown and dead, the gravestones crumbling. Rubbish blew about the tombs, skeletal bushes and trees shook angrily as the wind moved through them. The sky was grey, deep thunderclouds clashed against each other, rolling together, like the waves of the sea. Her dress was tattered, her feet bare, no longer bound in the sandals made from scrap rubber. As she closed her eyes again, lightening struck followed by a deep rumble of thunder. The rain began. It was cold, so cold and soothing on her feverish skin. She smiled, then opened her eyes and looked up at the sky, feeling the rain on her face and body. It was a torrential downpour, already her dress was soaked and sticking to her emaciated frame. Lightening cleaved the sky, out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. Something was coming toward her, her eyes, blinded by the lightening couldn’t quite make it out. She wasn’t worried. She would be gone by the time it reached her. She had places to go. Important places. She turned her face toward the ground again, there was another flash of lightening, followed by deep thunder that drowned out her words. “I’ll be with you soon.”

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About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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2 Responses to They are Coming. Short Story.

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