Empty Eyes (467 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 1.5 on 7 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Hirilnara (View user info) at 2006-08-07 17:21:21 EDT
*dusts off account* Been far too long since I did any writing... hopefully this piece will be continued, at some point between work and resits.
---------------
The streetlamps spill orange onto the pavement, giving a fiery glow to the late evening. The sky is burning too, streaks of crimson and gold soaking into the clouds, giving the whole picture an Armageddon feel; completely at odds to how I feel.
My world's just starting... yesterday I celebrated the final step into adulthood, gained the metaphorical key to the door of opportunity; I haven't stopped smiling since I woke up to see the pile of presents in the corner of my room.
I have the whole summer stretched ahead of me to explore, test my limits, make decisions. Or just relax, like today. A few drinks with friends at the pub have left me feeling slightly lightheaded, but more focused than normal. Everything seems sharper and more vibrant - the world's freshly painted, waiting for me. Being twenty one is going to rock!
I reach the gate for the graveyard, and leave the pavement to start my trek down the gravel path. Last time one of my friends from university was here, she asked me how I could bear walking through a graveyard at night. I had to point out to her that even I'm not stupid enough to walk down dark secluded tracks alone after dark; once the sun's set, I take the long way round - down to the high street, along to the crossroads, and then through the warren of backstreets to my house.
But during the day, it's such a convenient shortcut, and I've got no problems with the graveyard. I used to walk through it to get to school, and play hide and seek during the holidays. The trees and the stone tombs, with the dappled shadows and near-organic disarray, were perfect. I feel I almost know every tombstone here.
The path's straight for the most part, the occasional deviation around a tree too old and proud to allow the creeping tide of progress to inconvenience it. Like most evenings, I can follow it on autopilot, my thoughts elsewhere...I step over roots and dodge round knolls without a second thought. I had an interview the other day, for the local newspaper - temping, with the options of some articles if I prove myself! If I manage to get it, I'll be set financially for next year, I'll be in a job I know I'll love, AND I'll have time in the evenings to revise for my resits... it'll be perfect!
There's a harsh scream from my left, and my head jolts instinctively. There's a crow perched on a gravestone, its malicious beady eyes fixed on me. I hiss back at it - I've always hated crows - but all it does is shrug contemptuously, ruffling its oil-coloured feathers.
"Stupid bird" I mutter, but I'm distracted by the tombstone. I don't remember this one from my childhood; compared to the uniform modesty of the other ones, it's grotesquely elaborate. Stone vines climb up the sides, to snake around matching skulls at each shoulder. A cherub crowns the top; head, shoulders and arms, posed in the eternal carefree reflection of youth.
But time has worn away the rounded cheeks, rain blinded the watchful eyes. Now his stare is blank, an unseeing sentinel over the unknowing resting. In contrast, the skull on the left is as sharp and defined as if it were chiselled this morning. Some craftsman years ago has managed to twist the muscle-less face into a sneering grin, and given those empty eyes a piercing stare. Logically, it must be the simple fact that it's more sheltered from the rain than the poor weather beaten angel, but the over all effect is still eerie.
I take a hesitant step towards it, but the crow screams again, taking off towards me. I cover my head, expecting to hear the grating of feathers through air, feel the claws scraping my scalp; but it's gone strangely silent. When I look around again, the crow's gone, nowhere to be seen.
So is the sun... the clouds have faded from dusky pink to murky grey, and the whole world feels colder. I shake myself, and start for home again; my pace hurried and determined now. But, all the way down the path, through the backstreets, and up to my front door, I can feel the empty eyes watching me.
User Reviews
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2006-08-08 17:08:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Exams and University, and distinct absence of the Muse.
Although I might be back, if I can ever think of things to write.
That I think people'd want to ready, anyway.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-08-08 15:50:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
where have you been, missy?
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2006-08-08 09:58:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by ruthless (user info) at 2006-08-07 22:59:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Interesting. Seems like a good start.
Submitted by ParlorTrick (user info) at 2006-08-07 19:19:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"...a tree too old and proud to allow the creeping tide of progress to inconvenience it."
Submitted by Maltese (user info) at 2006-08-07 17:29:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
IMO KEEL U IN DA FACE
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2006-08-07 17:23:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment