First piece of writing I was ever proud of. All the way back in Year 9.

Description of a graveyard haha. I can't find the original picture I described, so... :( And I have no idea what genre this is so, it's horror. :P

Gravestones stand still, stiff from the ice cold wind. Sticks and stones surrounded by unearthly moans fill this space with loneliness. Maggots emerge from the corpse of a filthy, bloody rat that lies next to the fragmented fence. Silky trumpet lilies grow mangled and twisted under the scraggly branches of the bare, frost-bitten tree.

Ravens screech from the spindly fingers emerging from the towering trees. Soft, charcoal feathers coat the squawking creature. Crooked claws clutch the fractured skin of the branches as eyes -dark as the midnight sky- continue to watch over the necropolis. Bleak skies break through the branches of the towering trees, while the dark beauty flies free. It invades the illuminates sky like a drop of ink splattered on parchment. Viciously darting through the air; he is a hell hound of the sky. So out of place, yet so radiant.

The juxtaposing smells of fetid flesh and fragrant flowers invade the senses, causing distress to all the living beings near this place. Sounds of unseen creatures fill the musky air, like a choir's concord. Black widows -full of sorrow- graciously dance through the dying grass. Dancing daintily, the ballerinas make their way across the stage to the lone statue.

An angel " made of dark granite " poses so elegantly as she watches time slowly pass her by. Her empty eyes alone tell you her story; with one quick glance, feelings of sadness overwhelms the souls that leave her companionless.

A single, solitary soul wanders into the dystopia, completely unaware of where he is like a lamb going to slaughter. The air is thick with feelings of mourning and regret. Dead grass crunches under the weight of his heavy boots, a weight that is almost as heavy as the guilt on his shoulders. His tree trunk legs carry him through the graves while his muscular arms carry a bouquet of blood red roses. The graceful flowers lay limp in his arms, much like a sleeping child dressed in a scarlet coat.

With a fixated glare, he makes his way to a headstone he is all too familiar with. Light grey slate, engraved with roses and heartwarming words, stands in the darkest corner of the cemetery. The slowly rusting metal fence surrounding the complex seems to bend away from the tombstone. The unmistakable stench of misery fills the air. Musky and thick, the air clouds his eyes and engulfs his body. Broad shoulders sink downwards as his knees buckle underneath his aching body. An overwhelming feeling of pain rises in his dry throat. A single sapphire tear rolls down his flushed face.

Angry squawks escape the pointed beak of the raven, hidden high in it’s nest. The beast has returned from its brutal hunt for victims to tear open and eat. Devouring the flesh that still sat in its mouth, blood trickles from its beak and drips down it’s face. It sits calmly and watches the world that lies under his claws.

The king of darkness stares down at the only piece of the world that has yet to change. He rules over the gloomy segment that is burrowed deep into the usually blissful forest. Trees (seemingly full of life) that are home to glossy, red apples and dark, evergreen leaves seem to decay the closer they get to the burial ground.