Necrophilia


 * ''You think Snowy was peverted?Well I'm afraid you drove me to write this thenUser:Serprex 03:33, 24 September 2007 (UTC)

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. And forcing himself to the handle. A moment of rest turned to not 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?