Graveyard Muse

The dead grass crunched under her sneakers as she trekked through the foliage. She skipped lightly over the roses and flowers laying on top of the new dirt. She knew that these places had been recently dug, and she didn’t want to shame them with imprints of her footsteps.

She walked further, to the older tombstones. She ran her fingers lightly over the patterns chipped into the stones. She read the names out loud to herself, using the way they felt slipping off of her tongue to choose.

“Vanessa Wright,” She read. She decided she liked this name the best out of the ones she’d passed.

She folded her legs under her as she sat beside the grave. Her pen slipped out of her hand, landing in the dirt next to her. She picked it up again, using her teeth to remove the cap. With the pen poised over the fresh sheet of paper, she asked, “So, Vanessa, what’s your story?”

It was quite strange - when her stories felt dead she came to this place, where dead people are buried.

She was there, at the graveyard, at least two times a week. She’d pick a stone, choose a name, and then fill in the rest of the blanks.

“Vanessa, let’s say you worked s a model, because I imagine you’re as lovely as your name.” She paused, “But the pressure to be thin was too much, and you were so thin you collapsed.” She smiled to herself, jotting the details down. When she felt the familiar wave of excitement wash over her, she flipped the pages in her notebook to the unfinished short story in the back.

The faint scratches of the pen on the paper made her grin. When she felt like it was finished, she got up, waving at the grave.

“Well, thank you Vanessa. You’ve been a great deal of help. And don’t worry, I’ll finish your story, too. I’ll just need to find more characters…” Her eyes took on a glassy quality as she thought. “I’ll come back to visit, I promise.”

{*}{*}

It's short, yeh.

Opinions?

-Mari.