Natdia Epilogue
By Nostalgie Malaak
Notes: Can't believe it's finally complete!
Disclaimer: don't own a thing
Up the steep slopes of the northernmost range of the Rocky Mountains is a meadow. From this meadow one can see the jagged lumps of the Grand Teton Mountains. The meadow is surrounded by sap-filled pine trees and shivery tall aspens. The air perpetually smells of snowfall, even in summer.
This is where you'll find twenty-nine little girls.
The ground is dusty and covered in weeds and wild flowers that smell more bitter than sweet. The silence is at times unbearable. This high up the only wildlife is the tiny chipmunks that live among the rocks. The only other sound is the wind in the trees. It saws in and out like breathing. The pine needles rub against each other like the sound of a dry whispery laugh.
This is where you'll find one small blue-eyed boy.
Not far from this meadow is a mansion rearing up from the side of the mountain. It has an old broken down porch. The weeds are pushing up through the cracks in the splintery wooden boards. The windows are shuttered and the door is locked.
This is where you'll find the remnants of a happy family.
The land on which the house and the meadow rest is filled with energy. It is filled with the love and hate of the living and of the dead. There is a patch of ground between the house and the meadow that is stained with the blood of a little boy who fell and scraped his knees. There is blood in the meadow which ties the spirits there for all time. Sometimes they move between the meadow and the house, just to remember that they can. There is a large rock in the meadow, difficult to climb, but perfect for surveying the land. The land moves and sighs and whispers its secrets through the trees.
This is where you'll find my brother.
High up in these mountains, far away from the verdant oak trees of my home, is a meadow filled with the ashes of an old bonfire. There are still charred logs to be found scattered here and there. The occasional rain has turned some of the ash to dark black soil. out of the ground rise many small dirt mounds. They could be the graves of children, they're so small.
Far away from the best friends I've ever had, who were more like sisters to me than friends, I have found a quiet place. There is a stillness here, unmarred by the angry shade who used to haunt these woods. There is joy and sadness in this place, but it is a distant thing, like a memory only half recalled.
There will be others who come to this place. I can feel it. There is always someone new. This land is powerful and it calls out for others. This land is soaked in blood and cries out to be seen, touched, smelled. This land resonates with the whirling energy of one final dance.
And this is where you'll find me, too.
The End