in the dead of night, the crickets crawled across the graves taking care not to rub their legs together and disturb the stillness and soundlessness of the ancient graveyard
at the end of the road a dim figure strode towards the last resting place for humanity taking care not to upset the serenity of the humid night
the moon slowly rose in the sky above the place where people went when they died
silhouettes of lost souls strolling in the eerie quietude of endless tombstones overgrown with mantles of moss flitted through the overgrown grass unaware of the stranger
phantoms of the past paraded over the marble mausoleums of the rich and famous with impunity born from being deceased for millenniums
the young husband approached the recent grave of his young bride, while raising a pistol to his head and calling out her name though she was dead
The silence suddenly screamed…
-30-
The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 