The Dead Girl's Tears

September 16, 2012
By Yokel SILVER, Pleasanton, California
Yokel SILVER, Pleasanton, California
7 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
The problem with reality is that there is no background music.

The vigil was held at 12:00 AM and ended at dawn. The vigil’s purpose was not to collect condolences or reminisce about the passed one. Instead, the very purpose of the vigil was simply to end at dawn and nothing else. To forget about the passed one and move on from the cold corpse forever buried deep beneath the ground.

Tears were shed. Many dropped upon the grave of the passed one as a salty liquid to cleanse the “sin” of death, as the death was not the fault of the people but of the passed one. The passed one must be chastised, chastised for leaving without grace, grace being given by those who still live.

There was no sadness at the vigil. Only disappointment. Disparagement. Deriding. Fingers were pointed. First at each other, then at the grave. At the passed one who lied silently, forever dreaming in peace but forever having tainted the town.

The people passed on quickly from the dirt and the stone. After all, what more was it to them than dirt and a stone. Did they know the passed one? Perhaps they passed on to avoid the passed one.

Well before dawn was the graveyard left empty but for one teen boy staring at the vestige of the passed one, as if the body were alive and well above ground, simply taking a respite from the turbulence of life. A soft wind blew, ruffling the tufts of blondish brunette hair of the boy. His green eyes were hidden behind a wave of tears, this time sincere, this time truly sad. His lip quivered as the mirage of the passed one disappeared, droplets of tears raining down on the dirt and the stone. The sacred dirt, the precious stone. The boy fell to his knees. His hands were rough but strong and caressed the ground with a tenderness that had never before clutched his heart. The passed one was gone; she was gone. She left a sad boy in her place, who now began digging. Digging, digging, digging. Grasping at the heartless ground until his hands were black, until his eyes stung with dust. However, she had been buried deep beneath the ground, to be forgiven, to be forgotten, while the boy wanted to regret, to remember. He wanted to feel the pain she had felt.

Dawn came without warning. The sun rose as the boy lied next to the mound of dirt he had caused, picturing her there. He gave one kiss to the mound, to the last memory of the girl. The vigil ended but created a new purpose. To nurture the memories of the so-called forgotten girl and to cleanse the people that had wronged her. The boy would carry two spirits with him now, and he fell asleep as the sun began rising not to begin anew but to continue the day. 9/16/12 in memory of P.M., the passed one.

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