Back From The Dead

hand-grave

A half moon looks down on the graveyard which would be quiet if a tomcat had not chosen the top of the surrounding brick wall as the stage to serenade his mate from. A cold breeze makes a clump of pines shudder as it makes its way into the graveyard. It races over a wreath of Red Tinted Sunflowers, then a vase of wilted Lilies, but looses momentum at it strikes a black lump of stone set in a bare patch of earth. There is no scratch of explanation on the stone, just a smooth blank surface reflecting the moonlight.

The tomcat’s song reaches a crescendo and a hand thrusts up through the earth, clawing at the dirt, pushing it aside, making way for another hand and soon a head and torso. Crawling from the grave, she smiles.

She has returned.

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