Once Upon a Midnight Graveyard

Once upon a midnight graveyard, I emerged from the dirt. I arose from my resting place in the cold ground where death held me in a tight embrace. The moon shone almost as bright as the hours under the sun—the hours I had not beheld since I met my death. I drank in the crisp night air, my lungs expanding as they once did before. Looking upon the lonely grave I now call home, I ran my iridescent fingers over my name. Daughter, sister, friend, it reads. I look at my hands, my feet, my new body: wispy and white yet also translucent, much like the mist encroaching upon this graveyard. I look down under the ground, under the rocks and gravel, to see the oak casket adorned with engravings of roses—my favorite. Beneath the casket, I view the girl I once was but with a sullen and serious face. Its paleness rivals that of a porcelain doll, just like the ones I played with at Nana’s house. Those days when life was burdenless and I played in childlike wonder with the dolls while Nana looked on with a loving gaze, in a house that smelled like Christmas year-round. How Nana must feel I wonder, that her beloved granddaughter met death before her? How did she feel when she looked at this porcelain girl, lying in a box buried as deep as her suffering?

The quiet graveyard comes alive with the dead, as other souls emerge from their own final homes. Some are quiet and some are loud, some are young and some are old. Yet death came for each of them all the same. Their breath was drawn to an end and their flame flickered out. But unlike them, I blew out my flame. I wonder if they would be angry if they knew. I’m sure that some of them clung to life, fighting to stay in this realm, but in the end, death greeted them. I introduced myself to death. I came to him quiet and meek and went out the same. If this night is my only chance to see if I did the right thing, I must grasp this time. I never thought that I would have time again. What a funny thing to think about. As I walk past the graves multiple stories unravel as their owners come into the world once more. A couple kisses and hugs, and as the man whirls his wife around, she clasps her hat and lets out a hearty laugh. A little girl holds her stuffed teddy close and she looks around with wide eyes, wet with misty tears, calling out into the night for her mother. I feel my heart swell with pity because I know that no matter how loud she calls for her mama, she is not coming. Her family is in another realm, the realm from which we were taken. How lonely and sad it is. 

Having left the graveyard, I encountered a cold and lonesome road. It was paved a deep ebony, black as the night that was upon us. I traveled the road until it led me into a town, so familiar yet so utterly alien to me. The town where I was born, where I lived, where I died. I can still hear the ring of the bell at the corner store where I worked, I can still smell the pungent soaps at the farmers market and I always and forever can feel the heart of the town beat. I pass the houses filled with the sleeping people I once knew. The faded green shudders of my school principal, The yellow door of the local pastor, and the begonias lovingly planted by my mother in our front yard. As I creep upon the house, a swing from a tree eerily creeps forward, pushed by the wind. Long ago, I sat on that swing and my father pushed me. I enter my house, which is not mine anymore. The house I knew was always tidy. This house is unkempt, with dishes stacked in the sink, laundry thrown around, and the trash pile unending. I stalk up the stairs that I once rode down with my sister in a laundry bin. I sail easily through my parent’s door. Their bedroom has a heavy presence of grey that was never there before. My mother was the brightest person I knew, and she had this indescribable radiance of joy. My dad was incredible in his own way but even he could only stand back and watch my mother in awe. But in this gloomy, grey bedroom there is no space for joy. Their bed is empty and unmade, where they are in the middle of the night I have no clue. On the left bedside table, I spot a small framed picture from our trip to the beach, depicting all of us laughing with sunkissed faces. I’m taken back to that day, and I can still feel the sand between my toes and hear the symphony of the ocean, loud and thunderous in my ears.

Breezing swifty from my parent’s room I enter another across the hall. My baby sister is also gone and as I look around her room I come to find that she is not a baby any longer. The stuffed animals are gone and anything pink has been replaced with black. The only thing I recognize is the macaroni necklace we made together. I feel a smile creep upon my face as I remember the day fondly when I scolded her for eating our jewelry supplies. If only I could reach her once more. She is so close and yet so far, an entire world away. A world so cruel, so unfeeling, I decided to depart from it. I hoped that she would remember me for the person I was before it corrupted and killed my vulnerable human heart. I pray that she would not find the world to be so ruthless.

As I approach my room my no longer beating heart seems to squeeze in anticipation. I throw open the door, wondering what has become of it, the sole hint that I was a person in this world. That I lived, I hoped, I dreamed. From the quilted comforter to the flowery wallpaper, the room was untouched. My dirty laundry was forever fallen on the ground, and my favorite book still lay on my bed, the bookmark still holding a spot for the reader who would never return. I was sure the police would have turned my room upside down after what happened, looking for a reason, a point for why I did what I did. I know I’m why the house is filled with the air of despair that has been choking me ever since I glided in. But the wound is still fresh. The living have time, while it’s not always abundant. Time will chip away and erode my existence in the minds of those who knew me. Because of it, the sting of my death will become less tender as time does its job.

After departing from the only home I ever knew, I found myself once again on the street. But amid the darkness, there was a small, moving light. Almost immediately my body moved mechanically toward it. While I always hated exercise when I was alive, feeling the wind in my hair was such a freeing feeling I didn’t expect. As I chased after this little light another appeared. Then another, and another. Soon enough I found myself in a solemn crowd of people holding candles. They moved as a rhythmic body which I was squeezed into the middle of. Powerless to my curiosity, I journeyed with them down the road, past the town square, around the corner, and to the courtyard of the church. And even though it was the dead of night it seemed that almost the entire town was there, and the church was filled with familiar faces. My already pale post-mortem form turned a shade whiter when I realized that one of the faces here was mine. My school picture had been blown up and hung on the arch of the church. As everyone started to settle down, the face I had truly longed to see appeared before the crowd at the top of the church’s steps.

“Scarlett Sinclair was the best person I knew,” my sister’s voice croaked. “She was just so… special… so indescribable. So much so, that I hardly know what to say right now. Except, of course, thank you all for joining me and my family for a night-time vigil as the five-year anniversary of my sister’s death approaches.”

Even though Lily had always been shy, her voice seemed to boom over the crowd, almost demanding she’d be heard. She looks so different since I last saw her, she’s grown up so much. I move to join her at the top of the stairs, wanting to be as close to her as I can. I wish I could wrap my arms around her once more.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what life would have been like if she didn’t cut hers short. I imagine her as a college student, and how she would be thrilled to go off to school but call me at midnight because she’s homesick. I imagine her taking me out for ice cream after the SATS and spending every weekend going out to the movies. But beyond that, I imagine how breathtaking she'd look on her wedding day, and watching her face as she walked down the aisle toward the love of her life. I’ve imagined so many scenarios where she moves to the city, gets her dream job, or becomes a mother. But not a day goes by also that I’m not reminded these things will never come true. She’ll never see another birthday or Christmas or life event.” she pauses as her voice fades in and out.

“Everyday I used to wake up and hate the world for making her so miserable she’d leave me alone in it. And though I don’t want to admit it, for a while I hated her. I hated that Scarlett let her despair overcome her, I hated that she wasn’t around.”

I can’t help but flinch.

“But even more, I hated myself. I thought, there must have been something I could have done. I thought that maybe, somehow I could have saved her. I could have protected her from what led her to end her own life. I felt that I would never understand her and that I could never forgive myself for doing nothing to save my big sister.

But after a while, I came to realize that I didn't have to understand. We all know that the world can be lonely and confusing. But it can also be so beautiful. The world has offered to us something raw. Something real. And while it bared its ugly face, it kept the beauty underneath. And sometimes it’s hard for us to look beyond the ugly, beyond the hurt and pain. That’s why I want to help people see it. I want to help people see it because Scarlet didn’t. I think maybe she couldn’t because she was a part of that beauty. She was too good for the despair that captured her and I hope that wherever she is now, she has been set free. That now she can live in eternal bliss and see the beauty while the dark fades away.”

Lily was still talking as I ran away. I turned and bolted, and I just ran and ran and ran. Ghostly tears streamed down my face. For the first time since I arose from the dirt, I felt regret for what I had done. The world was cruel and it kept spinning while I suffered and I knew that it would keep spinning when I was gone. But I never wanted this. I never realized how final it would feel. I never thought about being gone I just so desperately longed for a break that would never come. Over and over again I was Atlas, it was as if I bore the weight of the world on my shoulders. Everyone has problems and everyone struggles. I believed that I was just another depressed teenage girl and God knows the world already has enough of those. But the world only had one of me. There was only one Scarlett Sinclair. And because I chose to die there would be so many things I would miss. I’ll never feel the rain on my face, feel my cheeks flush in the cold, or take a drive to nowhere again. And I think that those little things should have made continuing on worth it. Suddenly I realized that as I ran I wasn’t running away rather I was running toward something. Before long, I found myself back on the ebony road leading toward my final resting place.

Once upon a midnight graveyard, I returned to the dirt. Death awaited me patiently at my grave. I took his hand and he led me into the arms of God for the rest of eternity.