Buried Rose

The muddy ground slapped across my face, my consciousness was back, I was being dragged by an overwhelming force, my body was devoid of energy, I could not react, but to succumb to this force.

I pried open my eyes, darkness, moonlight were the resplendent glow that caught my eyes. A gigantic figure was pulling my right foot, he had a dexterous axe tucked at his back, he wore tattered cloth caked congealed with blood, the acrimonious demeanor in his stride was as if he was being possessed.

My memories about the distant past failed to recollect, I could only remember I was strangled by a sadistic priest, he knocked me out when I was exploring the derelict, dilapidated chapel at the suburb of the towns. His utterance about resurrection and sacrifice, that were the facet of his mumble-jumble that I could remember.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, “My child…” his voice was deep and distorted, hinted with a fiendish slur in his words, “We… are… going… somewhere… far, far, away… Don’t be worried.” he reassured me, I still could not move my body at all, not even a flinch.

The muddy ground turned into a grassy pasture, a steppe which was perceived in the dead of the night. Arid air, deadened by the night, shimmering in the moonlight, the oblivion, the hope that I was clinging unto. “Don’t worry, my child.” he asseverated with a haunting tone. “Don’t worry… my child…” he marched steadily.

Gradual slump, he lost his pace, “Don’t worry so much.” His strength in his words were more prominent in fear, no, it was pain. “Don…” he broke into a sob, keeping his commanding stride and grip by treading across the dry field faster to cover up, to mantle his sufferings.

“Worry not my child, we are going to… the hill… to chop up… some wood… and… to meet Him.” His voice was tingled with the building pain, the obedient child.

I opened my mouth, silence was my language, What is happening… I started to analysed the situation, he was picking up his pace, my mind was sprinting against his. Abraham and his only son. That thought caught me off-guard, this mad man is going to burn me alive.

My energy was completely depleted, I struggled, not a movement; I urged my limbs to move, not a fibre of muscle responded; my fear of dying became prominent, hope was the final agent to live. The mad man pulled out his axe, waving it to the moon, it was a shovel, he started to dig, he left me aside.

“Calm… Keep calm… my child… I am only carrying out His words…” the soil was plucked up into heaps in the matter of moments. He is not deciding to burn me, he is trying to bury me, alive. Still left with nil ounce of energy, I mustered everything that I had left, nothing.

A prayer was uttered under my breath. He shoved me into the burial ground, the hole of no return. I was left with nothing, I accepted the Providence, a visit that resulted into death. The soil was pricking against my legs, my groin, my abdomen, my arms, my neck. Before ending the light, he threw a rose deliberately into my face, signifying he had done his job. The grains of minerals gushed into my respiratory system, not even had the effort of moving, my body collapse, my hope dissipated, gone, forever.

There was the ethereal light that was often read in books, illustrated by my loved ones as I miraculously peeked through the curtains of my eyes. it struck me hard, it was fluorescent, a hospital. I was saved, by someone, to be found out after this.

Craving for more? Down below:
Blue, Blue Sky.
Centurian’s Drop
Unwarranted, Outmatched
Providence’s Circle
Tapering Hope

Bury

Posted by

Hope. Joy. Feelings cloaked as words.

10 thoughts on “Buried Rose

Leave a Reply to pjane101 Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.