Cemetary

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

The ground was frosted with a delicate covering of ice. The wind blew with aching acuteness through the clattering reeds of the swamp, hissing and moaning through dead, rubbing branches. A young girl, her hair ragged and bleached of color through hardship and malnutrition, knelt before a cross with a ragged patch of cloth attached. The wind pierced her to her core, leaving no inch of warmth in her flesh. Her thin shirt and patched jacket did nothing to keep out the chill, and her bare toes were muddied and frozen. Her breath froze as soon as it touched the air, expelled through blue lips. She could in no way stop her shaking. Her tears froze before they left her cheeks.

 

The girl sniffed, her nose running because of her tears and the cold. "I promised," she whispered. "I promised, Dedata. I'll find Shizu and Oto. I'll find the ones who took them." More tears swelled into her eyes as she pressed her lips to her fingers, touching the cross to relay her cold, unfelt kiss. Slowly, pulling her jacket about her shoulders in a futile attempt to warm herself, the small girl stood. Bleakly she stared around her, tears still spilling from her eyes. Only now as she stood were the rest of her surroundings seen. Not one cross, but many-- numbering eight in all-- sat planted in the ground around her. Scraps of cloth, crudely made windchimes, even a tiny rag doll hung from their cross-pieces. The graves, all hand dug by the sole remaining survivor of the hard winter and the swamp's evils, varied in size from long to smaller than the girl's forearm. The girl clenched her chapped and bleeding fingers together into a fist. "I promised all of you," she whispered.

 

One last time the girl brushed the crosses with her fingers, trembling even worse with the cold. The temperature dropped with the sun, and as she stood the girl's skin opened up in blisters from the freezing elements. With a few stumbling steps and a sob, the girl broke away from the graves and tripped her way out of the frozen cemetary. Hoarfrost demons and fey of the winter followed, watching with golden eyes and brushing her skin with their white, frozen fingers. The girl cried out, her eyes wide as she stumbled away from the unseen spectres.

 

Despite her efforts to reach the road, she travelled deeper and deeper into the swamp. Ice formed in her hair and under her nose, on her eyelashes and over her thin clothing. She could no longer feel her feet or hands. The girl fell to her knees, putting her hands on the ground, panting. The sun had set, and darkness was fast falling on the horizon. It grew colder with every second. "Shizu," she muttered. "Oto..."

 

The ground grew warm under her fingers. Surprised, the girl looked up. Before her, breaking out of a frozen swamp pond, was a large red rose. It curled upwards, exuding heat and light, glittering with tiny droplets of water and curling its green fronds outwards towards the girl crouching not far off. The girl giggled slightly and reached forward, blood trickling from her cracking lips and cheeks, her eyes only half seeing what was before her. "Shizu...Oto..."

 

There would be no grave for her. No family to lay her cold body deep in the frozen earth, or build a crude cross as a token of her life. She had been the last, the only. She had done her service for her family before her, but now she died alone, with a bright red rose curled through her hair. The ice crusted over her face, and above the snow began to fall.

[Silver WInd]

This is so vivid, it turly paints a picture and the end in particular was turly gripping, and so sad.

 

The only thing I would suggest, is giving "The girl" a name, as the use of the words "the girl" and "her" throughout the story did become a bit redundent after a while.

 

frozen swamp pond,

This seemed a bit awkard, as swamps and ponds tend to be too sperate things. It might have been better to just say

 

frozen swamp,

 

or

 

swampy pond

 

But those are just little things. Overall, a great story.

[Patrick]

At the start of the piece the phrase "aching acuteness" painted a very acoustic picture with its alliteration about the cold. I really liked that. The piece as Silver Wind has already said is pretty vivid and I'd also add very sad.