A Grave December

A Chapter by Casandra

Prologue

The brown-haired man sat alone in his cold dark corner contemplating the bitter irony that surrounded this Christmas Eve. Well hidden from the sight of anyone behind the many rows of silent tombs, he gazed half-heartedly onto the graveyard. The peaceful scene of gently falling snow barely registered above the violent memories playing in his mind.

With every solitary moment spent, the world became a darker place. The brown-haired man had paced through the graveyard since dusk, comparing the life he had long ago forfeited to the hell he lived in now. It sickened him to remember the idiotic boy with a simplistic good nature that sacrificed everything he had for the ones he once loved.

A creak from the gate several meters away disturbed his tranquility, and the brown-haired man considered taking his revenge for the interruption. When he caught sight of the figure alone in a black hooded trench coat, however, a deep curiosity took root. He let the woman be.

He watched her march with grim determination down the rows, keeping her eyes straight ahead as she weaved around the ancient stones. It was obvious to him that she knew very well where she was going, it was also very obvious that she didn't want to go there either.

The figure had walked all the way to a forgotten corner of the graveyard, and kneeled in front of a pair of crumbling tombstones. As tenderly as a mother, he could see her brushing away the snow that had collected within their carved names.

She spoke, but the wind hid her words from him. The longer she sat talking before the stones, the further she bowed her head. Yet as he began to ponder just what sort of guilt weighed so heavily on the intruder, she shot up from her stance and furiously kicked one of the stones to the ground.

The brown-haired man nearly charged out from his hiding spot, but remained very still once he saw the figure fall down into the snow with a wave of vicious tears. She was much too pitiful for him to seek vengeance.

Like a child throwing a tantrum she beat at the ground with amazing passion, her loud sobs fighting to rise above the howling wind. Yet as soon as she had begun her fit, the figure had stopped.

He watched her rise slowly from the ground as if she had a new understanding. With a sudden and unforeseen determination, she walked confidently to the graveyard gate. Only pausing for a moment before she passed through, to turn around and look once more at the tombstones.

He could have continued with his seclusion, and he might have been all the better for it. The brown-haired man, however, was far too intrigued with his visitor. The figure persisted in marching down the deserted street, and the brown-haired man had his newest prey.