Even in Death

She sobbed pitifully; pathetically, strolling unintentionally to where the deceased make their beds and slumber in deafening silence. Eternally confined to the abyss of darkness: never to taste bliss, pure happiness, the thrills and frills of life again. The ridiculous and shameful end to many of men whom risked their lives to barely live. Those who tried hard to strive and survive the cruelties that their own demises posed. Where crows pose on wooden poles raised high above the rows. Where corpses, uninhabited, lie stiffly morbid under the placid earth. Where from birth all are cursed to feel hurt. All to finally disperse and take the one way ride in a hearse.

She stumbled past the stones that marked the lair of bones; thrones of the unknown left forgotten and alone. No mercy was shown for this poor girl’s moan was heard from afar. Her scars burned and the pain intensified. Her worst fears becoming a reality check in which she could not escape this ill-fated, anticipated, exaggerated, wreck. Sorrowful relapses rushed back and swallowed her whole. Flames of hate and rage engulfed her shattered soul.

All of the sanity fading as she slowly laid down on the tattered ground awaiting to fulfill her destiny, no debating, no contemplating just going down majestically. Silence filled the grave, dragging on the impending doom, for self-pity she had no room. A heaving chest and deep breaths palpitate from her womb. Another warrior soon, and by the light of the moon she was guided. Knowingly she sighed, a single tear fell. Now was her time to roam the streets of hell, a damnable, disastrous domain she knew all too well, for she was compelled by her demonic holiness. Turned savage by her loneliness she prayed to hell hounds for forgiveness, their answer was malicious.

But alas, as was the deed, her life was surely done, to make way for another one. More vicious vile and villainous for the mother was merely tricked, but this beast would be born calamitous! Her eyes swelled as she choked on regret and the realization, that she had been used as a temporary haven. There is no alleviation with instant gratification. And with this, the last bit of life slipped off of her lips, and was gone like leaves with the wind. How mournful it is to have the wicked sides win: morals below sin; pure poison, hateful, heinous, and hideous. But surely she’ll be avenged, for even in death she lives.

By Veronica Q