Grave Junction
The oil dark bird with matt black beak and shining eyes landed on the headstone, now slumped wonky into the subsiding ground. The corpses angels that had been set to guard had rotted away, their graves were collapsing and nature was taking back that which it had so briefly let the people of this world have.
It was night and a purple dark night at that, the sky seemed streaked with the darker colours and the stars where ice pricks, twinkling at the bottom of some long dead sea. A ghostly howl echoed through the old mausoleums, telling that the winds had risen once more.
The Inbetween Time had come, it was a fringe moment, when the worlds could change. A rushing whoosh and screech of whistle broke into the night, the demonic bird flew away and a lonely rag fluttered in a tree, it had rotted to cobweb tendrils but it still served as the signal.
The ghost train pulled in, pearlised and sheer, it fluoresced, dark pits of eyes stared with longing from the carriage windows. A single occupant was allowed to exit. He was a slither of darkness that flittered from one crook of shadow to the next. The train departed fading as it chugged away leaving the echo of a smell.
A chittering started from the far side of perception and coalesced itself into a second form. It was made of the dirt eaters and rotten death feeders – the bugs and the mites and the worms, it was bity and insecure and it awaited the shadow with impatience.
The dark wraith finally stepped forward hurting the eye as it sucked in all light, but if one had been able to gaze on the form, it would have had a tall willowy outline, two arms, two legs, a slender waist. It was male, and it was angry, but it was also afraid and alone. The writhing bug person clicked and squeaked and was presented with a copper coin, a little robin red breast was embossed in the pitted metal. The creature nodded and tossed it carelessly into the air. In the flip the coin changed, now it was larger and smoother and showed a moon and a pie.
It was handed back, the blackness sagged and sunk into the shadows once more to wait, it’s train would be soon, a meer eon until the next conjunction, until the next ghost train could stop at Grave Junction. One eternity or two and it would reach it’s destination. But like all the travels in the realm of the dead, it wasn’t sure if it was better off not getting there but the journey had wearied it’s spirit, distorted it and it just craved the end of the line.
Posted: Thursday, October 30th, 2014 @ 2:58 pm
Categories: Flash Fiction, Uncategorized.
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