GEM CHROMATIC COLOUR GRAVEYARD VOID PUPPET
A figure stalked through the mist with the purpose of a predator resurrected to protect a trove of ancient gems and scrolls. Tonal whiplash compared to the sombre symphony of freshly fallen rain pooling in the footprints left behind like blood in open wounds. Mud sticking to the soles of the figure's boots as they trudged along, weaving their way through the gravestones. The mud dragging them down into the same void that consumed the victim the figure approached. The weather was more pleasant than the forecasts predicted for a graveyard in the middle of winter. The moon shone down onto the dew speckled earth, making blades of grass glimmer like gemstones. Long shadows creeping like puppets with their strings cut. Dancing erratically before falling. Falling into the abyss.
The very essence of happiness sucked from the scenery despite the whimsical nature of the nightscape. Chromatic colours replacing familiar pallets. The whole world seemed to shrivel and break apart like autumn leaves. Taunting. The eerie silence stabbing her in the back despite her thicken woollen sweater. She pulled off her gloves with her teeth before she knelt by an open grave to lay a single flower with the texture of aged oil paint. The flower-a token for the beloved who left a void in their heart. The freshly turned earth was sticky, but vacant. They were not burying a physical person, but part of themselves. All their triumphs and failures. Their younger self laying broken and twisted at their feet. Of course, their mind was wondering. They would rather be anywhere else.
Their boots laced like crude stitches in bruised flesh. She whistled an old lullaby. One of their favourites. Before a crucial piece of them died. Why was she so attached to the past? It had not been the best time. Now she was successful, but someone else was pulling her strings. She wanted to do one thing, but monotony pulled her in and spat her out the other side as a changed person. She lifted her head, her eyes shaded like raw gems. A single tear rolling down her cheek like rain striking the glass. She clambered back into her car, turning back into the stream of traffic. The traffic congested, allowing her a moment longer than a tormented mind needed, to drift into the nostalgia.
When had the world turned so black and white? No. When did the colours die? When had the strings on her wrists constricted her innocence? Choking on her words like it was poison on her tongue. Her emotions took root, spreading its branches to protect her from the world when she let her walls crumble. It was her fault that her younger self died. She murdered herself like a masochist. Her own, slender fingers drumming aimlessly on the steering wheel, closing around her windpipe.
Back to her boring day job. Back to dealing with idiots on the regular. Surviving on coffee and prayer. A million miles from the endless summers, running through the fields. Just her imagination for company. Before, a simple cardboard box became a fantastical fortress. All good things came to an end. Sigh. Bills superseded the drag of homework. Relentless duels of stress and fatigue thinned her hourglass figure. She felt as pale as the mist masking her nightly meanders down Memory Lane. Could some knight in shining armour hurry and save her? Save her from this routine. Save her from the voices inside her head. Where was her happily ever after? Was it resting beside her inner child?