Friday, December 12, 2014

Something That Death Can Touch

He opens the car door, but sits in the drivers  seat without moving. He does this every year, every 1st of September. The first year, when he was fifteen, his mom drove him. Now, three years later, he drives himself. 

She stands at the gate, toes curled around the damp, newly mowed grass. She waits all year for this. Her arms have goose bumps running up and down them. 

It’s cool this morning, cooler than the last year. It’s not quite raining, but the sky looks dark grey, ready to pour down with fury. A lone bird sings, sitting on the gate. The scent of the cut grass fills the air, a summer smell. 

He opens his eyes, and climbs out of the car. The shutting of the door is loud, the lone bird stops singing, with a flutter of wings, takes off from the gate. His hand goes to his pocket, pats it once, then he takes hesitant strides to the gate.

She steps away from the gate, blinks at the screech as it opens. She wraps her arms around herself, bites her lip. She feels the stinging at the back of her eyes begin, and angrily, rubs her left eye. She moves soundlessly. 

He walks slowly, the way he has been walking for five years, the walk that begun on the 1st of September 2009. His feet know where they are going, the path is long memorised. His head hangs slightly as well, the white tee-shirt that once fit him so well is now a lose skin. 

She slows her usual pace, keeps time. She knows where she is going, she makes this walk each year, barely breathing. Her chill is forgotten, the summer cotton dress floats around her, her pale fingers move on their own accord, nervous. 

This is a special place, you sense it as soon as you walk through the gate. Under the neatly mowed grass, secrets lie buried in chocolate colored dirt. This is not a paddock, as first glance may suggest, this is a barely used graveyard. 

He stops, the white tee-shirt deflates as he sits. He doesn’t notice the dampness of the grass, rather he leans his head on the cold, cold stone, and memories run down his cheeks in a slivery stream. From his pocket, he withdraws folded paper, rests his hand on his forehead and begins to read. 

She sits, the damp grass cannot bother her. Her hair swishes forward, over her shoulders, bringing primitive warmth to them. She brings her hand up, desperate to feel breathing. Her head bows, she remembers too, but the tears she cries mean nothing, go nowhere. 

He is of the world, she is five years gone. He will not forget, she stays for these visits. He walks like drizzle, she acts like sunshine. He talks to her, she wraps her arms around him, and wills him to hold on. 

Eventually he stands, leaving a single daisy and begins the walk back to his car. She stays, her forehead pressed where his was. He doesn’t look back, his car door shutting with an air of finality about it. She curls up, and begins the wait, her heaving sobs not making a sound.

It begins to rain. 

Five days later, he can see her. 


  1. OH. MY. WORD. I could literally start sobbing now. That was amazing. Keep up your writing skills, they're really good :) I especially loved all the description you used. And that picture? AMAZING.

  2. Friggin frig. That was good. AND SO OMINOUS AND SAD AT THE END. It was... yes. It was. And I was like, "adfksdjklsdjfldkjf" which says a lot and it says nothing all at the same time.

    Way to go.

    1. Thanks! adfksdjklsdjfldkjf is everything :))

  3. That was just the most amazing, heart breaking thing I have read yet! I want to cry (I am crying) I love it! :)) :(

  4. That was really powerful. The detail about his T-shirt (a clue). I had to read it three times. Whoa!

    1. Thank you :) I aim to stop people at what they're doing with my writing :)