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A long casket it was too, what a very long box, cool to the touch, cool to the eyes, cool in every way but thought. An immense, drowning feeling of sorrow was in my being, the core is grounded, much like a bird clipped of it's wings. What agony cascades upon the very lifeless soul within my very mind as I look down upon the face of the one who lies there motionless, expressionless, solemn. Pale skin glimmering against the night's risen candles shining brilliantly on this windy eve. The moon, only a sliver to be found suspended carefully in the heaven's above; Death's clichd sickle looming over the scene at hand. The minimal light reflects broadly on the wood frame around the young man; only adding to the already clear sight of the abnormal setting. The wind picks up slightly, bending uncut blades of grass onto a green pant leg, slightly stabbing the skin beneath with their many ends. I lift my leg slightly to dislocate the slight stinging blades from the penetrated fabric and put my hand on the roof of the box before me to balance myself for a moment as I brush off persistent plant life clinging to a demoralized body. I relinquish my hand position and stand once again in silence, hands in pocket, staring at the brown hair, the closed lids, pursed lips, and slight cheek bones. Where my hand rested is an outline, and five fingerprints clearly copied on the smooth surface, only visible as light fades in and out of reflective existence. I rid myself of the hair now irritating my eyes by pushing it to the side, secured by a motionless eyebrow. Eyes glazed, thought now fogged with exhausting memories, my forehead wrinkles a bit, and then subdues itself to a previous creamy blandness. There I am, standing straight-backed and rigid against a whistling wind making itself known by rippling, tide-like across my open jacketed shirt, and flowing in and out of each and every strand, carrying it as far East as is allowed. Green suit slightly swaying in reaction to a curious wind enveloping and sifting through, triggering thought after thought, one more miserable than the next.

Brown hair waving, open lids gazing, screaming for a blink to replenish fluidity, pursed, quivering lips, and slight cheek bones twitching uncontrollably in an emotional signal of discontent, I stand and I lay there, both in one, one in both until eternity do us part.......................... .......

Learn more about this author, Nicolas Verhoeven.
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