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...1... Shadows in the Dusk
A young man of average height, wearing a heavy black pea coat stands alone in a cemetery. Rows of tombstones, seemingly endless, were lined horizontally throughout the graveyard, all had been aged with time. However, the grave before the young man in the pea coat was aberrant by all means. The color of the tombstone, an argent white that seemed to almost shine in the glare of the sun. He stood a few feet from the grave, his shadow on the other hand reached the base of the headstone. His hair, an aggregate of brown and black values, swayed madly like a plastic bag in a rushed gale of wind. The young man's eyes seemed dull, a low tone of blue and gray. His eyes. Seemingly lifeless orbs that peered into the grave before himself. Clenched tightly in his hands was an amply packed bouquet of flowers, ranging from roses to lilies. He forced his body to take a few steps toward the grave then fell to his knees, the bouquet was slightly released from the tight grasp. Tears came now. A multitude of clear droplets slid down his pale face, they were a sign of life in his placid eyes. He slowly lifted his arm and extended it toward the tombstone, the bouquet slanted forward and seemed to become an extension of his arm. Words were mumbled behind a choked voice, and then repeated until he could no longer speak. Without warning an eerie force seemed to grasp his wrist and pull down on it, he dropped the bouquet at the base of the headstone. The young man was on his feet promptly, gazing at his arm. What had grabbed his hand? He pondered for a time then returned to his previous thoughts, he held the approaching tears back, he would not submit to his anguish again. To the clouded sky his eyes soared, he couldn't bare the sight of the names on the tombstone, Torroto. Roger and Ann Torroto, his parents, both buried under the same tombstone, Torroto, the name he had know for so long. This name, Torroto, seemed to vanish before his eyes after his parents had died. Only two weeks earlier his parents had died in a disastrous train incident, leaving him only with his grandfather. The young man thought about his name, Ilan Torroto. He thought, could it really exist anymore, was he real anymore with no parents and only a grandfather who barely had an ounce of life left in him. A strong feeling of relief rushed through his body, like a canoe darting throughout a raging river. He shook the notion away, it was absolutely absurd, of course he would remain in existence. In the distance he caught the slight sound of metal clank against the stone of a headstone. Through the corner of his eyes he caught a glimpse of the blurred anatomy of what seemed to duplicate a tall human. With a swift movement of his body he turned to face the conundrum of what he had seen. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Ilan frowned then started aloud in a apathetic tone, “Maybe I'm going insane.” He slowly forced his feet to move, one and then the other until he managed his way out of the cemetery. A flat and large square of decrepit cement that was slightly slanted and upon a mild hill served as a parking lot. Two vehicles, both meager compared to the fresh “master's of the roads” seen on countless daily commercials. One, parked strangely in the middle was a dirty shade of maroon, the tires were bedraggled.
 Dual blader · Tue Nov 20, 2007 @ 10:55pm · 1 Comments |
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