The sky was lit dark, the path was all but lightened. In the shadows of the moon, a figure walked among the roses, heading to find the grave he had dug earlier that day. Shovel in hand, he had left his home and his wife to find what he truly desired
The gate stood in front of him, locked. Putting the shovel handle on a peg, the man pulled himself up. Hands on the brink of shedding blood upon the foot rests, he gave a final push before clinging to the shovel's long staff while forcing himself to the handle. A moment of rest failed to suffice, and so the man curled so that he could rest his hands while his legs aided in the clinging of the gate
He was over the gate, hands in pain. The graves lay in silence, waiting for his choice. But he knew who he was here for, and walked down the garden of death. It was quiet here, the silence of the night spoke to him louder than the words of the church. He stopped to enjoy the flower beds, a blade of moonlight cutting through their cloak of darkened peace
Rest in peace. What did they mean by that?
He sat in the garden, plowing flowers with his father. Hands dirt scuffed, he gently set them in an ordered row. His parents were to become married
"Howcome you never got married before?" he had asked his father that day
"Too busy with life, we wanted to wait until we could really be busy with the other's life"
Life, a beautiful thing. But just like a flower, best when picked before wilting
He got up, patchs of grass combed about him. Where was his beauty?
Upon the hill of waving grass, he looked down and saw the grave. Within it was his jewel. Standing tall was the granite tomb, the name of the fairness it held etched upon the surface
The ground was tender, only a few consoling pedals sat along the tomb's front. He took the shovel, scraping away the dirt and feeling his longing for the buried love. For some hours, he shoveled away at the volumes of dirt, before hardness was struck. he worked on breaking the casket seals
Sooner or later, he had lifted the lid from where it had been meant to rest. There he saw again the pale face of that sweet lady he had never had a chance to know. He revealed her chest, caressing her soft breasts before pondering
Why am I here?
He ignored the thought, and went to kiss her calm face
Is this what I am?
He lifted himself. Here he was, digging bodies for pleasure. He stood, brushed off his shirt and closed the coffin, wiping the lady's face with the back of his hand before leaving her to never be seen again. Standing on the ground again, he sighed
Some time later, the grave was refilled. The man turned back, and headed to the hill. Looking up, he smiled at the moon
"Why can't you marry her now?"
"I've already told you, because she's dead"
He left the flower bed, and stood at the gate. Lifting himself over it, he walked home in the night, watching the leaves sway in the wind. When he reached his home, he stopped at the door. Was he to rejoin his wife after such an event? He looked down at his feet, and turned back to sleep among the grasses of the lawn