Epilogue: That Last Painful Sigh

A few months later…….

It was a day like no other.

There had been so many weeks of incessant rain; the residents of the small town had lost all hope for a sun-filled afternoon, for mornings that were warm and pleasant. They had almost forgotten how it felt to have the evening sun light the sky with a brilliant wash of pink and orange, to see a sky that was not flooded with angry, stubborn clouds.

Indeed, all of the townspeople were skeptical when they awoke one day to see their lawns awash with morning dew, the sun reflecting of the little water orbs like small ornaments dotting the blades of grass. The air was cool, not cold, a breeze lilting through the branches of the oak and maple trees, leaves rustling like natural wind chimes. The rain had lost its grip on the atmosphere, and the town was finally emancipated from its prison of dreary, inhospitable weather; the fingers of early spring's precipitation were unclosing themselves, allowing May's fragrant envoy to billow through the urban township.

As the sun crept over the slightly sodden horizon, slowly, as if it were fighting some invisible pull, the cotton-candy hazes of the night departing in its presence. Birds and other small animals were awoken from their nests and trash-can abodes, stirred by this unfamiliar warmth. They stretched in the disappearing darkness, their limbs revitalized, their minds perking as the sun began to loom overhead like a beacon of hope.

One would think that with such a beautiful day on the verge, all of the city's residents would be overjoyed, that they, like the animals, would all bound from their homes to greet the idyllic sunrise and amiable wind, to say "goodbye" to days filled with dolorous rainfall and clashing thunder. How could anyone overlook such a wonderful occasion as this?

The grave stone was fresh; not a single bit of mold had caught hold of its marble surface, not a spot of grime could be found in the crevices of the epitaph.

The dirt for the tomb was also newly laid, still soft.

It was actually a very pretty sepulcher, in spite of its inherent rigor, as flower arrangements of all colors and sizes adorned the grave, lilies and baby's breath carpeting the floor of recently spread dirt. Their strong scent filled the air around the grave, although it failed in washing away the more imaginary air of melancholy that was naturally found in a cemetery.

The tomb was far away from the other's, placed solemnly underneath a silver maple, as if to denote its importance. Its marker looked lonely, as it faced the other gravestones, wishing for their company, wanting to converse on about happier topics other then death and the afterlife.

But there would be no companionship for the lone grave; it would forever be alone, underneath the silver maple, the leaves and bark its only friends. There were few people in the cemetery, and especially none around this special, somber spot, not a single mournful visitor around to offer words of console or pity.

If the stone of the grave marker could speak, perhaps it would have called out to the doves nestled in the tree. Perhaps it would have imitated their grief-stricken, doleful call in a wasted effort to pull them closer.

But the stone could not speak, could not imitate the dove's gentle cooing.

The stone marker and tomb, if it could form the words of man, would probably have cried, belted out sobs enriched with tears, sorrowful in its solitude.

But today was a day like no other, and therefore, many unexpected things were wrought.

Footsteps like that of a fawn pattered on the soft crabgrass of the cemetery, navigating around the plethora of gravestones, straying far from the stone path the winded around the graveyard.

The person felt desperate to have come to this place, so weak and ravenous, as if some great power had compelled the person's feet to walk to the silver maple.

White as Dracula was her skin as she approached the grave, surprised to see so many flowers scattered along, feeling rather guilty to have come here empty handed herself. Kneeling slightly, the solitary person touched the petals of the lilies, careful not to bruise the delicate surfaces, taking in their fragrance. It was pleasing, but she could not bring herself to smile, even with the day being so agreeable.

Had she hoped to find some peace of mind, some manifestation of solace here?

She was tilling her own grave, carving with her own bare hands her own epitaph in a slab of marble.

She didn't have to say any words, not a single utterance was needed to convey her guilt and sorrow. It was all in her eyes, all in her skin, all in her hair and mouth. She was the very essence of remorse as she knelt before the grave, still fondling the flowers tenderly. Her mouth quivered though, as if she were either struggling to say or hold back the words that clenched her soul. Knees buckling, the person collapsed onto the bed of flowers, body twitching.

A halo of shame and self-reproach slid down her neck, reaching to choke her now, and she could not fight it off, had no stick to beat it away. Hidden in the blankets of flowers, head nestled against the grave stone, the girl had not the strength or power to cry, had only the mettle to stay still, to fight the urge to run away.

Like a baby unable to stand on its own, the girl remained motionless, as the doves in the silver maple looked down on her, heads cocking to one side curiously. They hadn't had a visitor since the since the burial ceremony, when silent and few mourners had walked away, never to return. Who was this small, weak person that had intruded upon their sanctuary? They flapped their wings, white plumes falling from their heavenly bodies, floating down to the ground like an angel's snowflakes.

The breeze hastened, and the branches swayed slightly. As if the tree were agitated by the curious doves, it shooed them away with its looming, aged arms. It then came to rest again as the wind calmed, and the old maple overlooked the friendless guest, only now coming back to her senses as the doves continued to fly away, cooing in the ebullient dawn. Pollen sticking to her skin, wet with the morning dew, the girl's eyelashes batted frantically to push the flower's dust away, nose itching as some of it was accidentally inhaled. The small, fragile looking person sneezed violently, causing her to suddenly rise to a seated position, and she rubbed her nose achingly, vision clouded and muddled.

She felt lost again……..there were so few she could trust……but the few that would stand next to her would be loyal, would be there for her in times of sorrow and delight.

But right now, even that seemed so trivial.

The girl shuddered, eyes red from irritation and half-hidden lament. Broken and weary, she felt as if she was unable to find her way……..

The gravestone seemed to be calling out to her, but she would not be its prisoner any longer. She couldn't go on like this…….

She had chosen to live, she had wanted to live……the shadowy figures of her past had to die away at last.

Coming to the realization that there was nothing to be found here save needless ignominy, senseless disgrace, the girl rose to her feet, stumbling slightly, nearly powerless.

"Goodbye……." the girl said finally, losing the battle to remain silent. She turned from the grave, turned from her past, turned from her grief. Eyes locked onto the path before her, one that would eventually lead her away from this seemingly unending torment, Nel started to walk away.

"Mother……."

Nel refused to turn back to the grave-stone, didn't even risk another glance as her feet lead her to another figure who stood at the entrance to the cemetery, dressed in a familiar black trench-coat.

It was to be a day like no other……..

Author's Notes: Well, it's finally finished! I'm sorry it's taken so long to wrap things up, but I also wanted to thank everyone that has left a comment or has sent me fanart! It's been a great time working on this story, and I hope that everyone has enjoyed it! Please leave a review if you can spare a moment D

Nel