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Stela (i)
Prologue:
In the last rays of the setting sun sits
an empty grave on top of a dusty,
barren hill. A cold wind blows dirt across
the unoccupied hole in gusts. Dust devils
caper about in the dying light, hanging
around like wraiths after the bodies are
rotted.
The sound of the wind fills my senses.
I’m welded to the spot I stand upon and
I cannot even twitch. The sole movement
I have is to move my eyes back and forth
across the panorama set in front me. All
is lifeless and cold as the last vestiges of
the sun slowly fades below the horizon.
The stain of rain clouds carried in on the
turbulent gales roil in the air overhead.
The first droplets hit the ground at my
feet as I look on, feckless. Shades of
a past breath ripple in the dark, blending
within the chaos. My centre is frozen in
horror with those things that have dissipated.
In an instant a loud crack of chains
snapping brings me back from the edge.
As I turn slowly I stand face to face with my
shadow. Sharp claws of penitence grip
me with an icy slowness. As I’m laid in the
chasm I look up to see the gravestone. The
sight fills me with numbness at the prospect
nobody is left to bury me.
Published 1st Mar 2023
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