Graveyard Hymns // (Sarella)

Shipwreck in a sea of faces
There's a dreamy world up there
Dear friends in higher places
Carry me away from here

The silver mist is thick where it settles among the verdure, carrying the heavy weight of death upon its wispy shoulders. My footsteps fall through it easily though I look as if I am wading through a gleaming pool, feet easily finding what my eyes are blinded to by the swirling achromic tendrils. It is my breath and my breath alone that enters into the quiet night, for all other residents of this forgotten prairie have left their heartbeats in the distant past. Maybe that is so easy for me to walk among them, so quiet and skeletal and pale that one might actually think I truly belong here instead of in a world where people have hot blood running through their veins and dark eyes and smiles that really don't mean anything because they all want to hit me, hurt me, crush me. They never say it, but I know they do.

There is one arching stone that seems to rise higher than the others, edges more jagged and surface more icy. I can't read the engravement - even without the mist it is hidden under layers of moss and wild ivy - but I know what it says. Without even blinking I drop to my knees on the soft, damp earth, trying very hard not to think of what lies beneath me. I am lost in silver and white and black, everything beautifully blank, but my mind is a labyrinth of screams and hopes and despair. It's so cliche to come to graveyards and cry out your problems to those who cannot hear you, but I do it anyway, bringing slender fingers up to brushe against my face as I cry. It's so fitting, that only the dead can comfort me. The fat tears slip into my lips and I taste them when I try to speak, my voice timid and broken.

"Hi, Mama. I'm s-sorry I haven't come to visit in a while. D-d-daddy doesn't l-like it."

I'm fragile and languishing above my mother's skeleton, and yet somehow at the mention of Daddy I manage to lift my chin. Because I'm stronger than Daddy, even though he doesn't cower away from people like I do and he doesn't cry every night like I do and he doesn't hide away with his birds like I do. But he's pathetic in a way I'm not, because while I stumble and sink and drown through life, he can't even face it. We may both feel pain but at least I don't try to wash mine out with bitter drinks and stinky cigarettes. I slip one hand beneath the growth and close my eyes tightly shut, gritting my teeth against the memory.

He shatters. He shatters just like the bottle he throws against the wall, honey-tinted pieces twinkling with lost promises as they hit the hardwood floor. And when he screams because it just hurts too much for him to take, the agony fills every empty hallway and broken cupboard. It vibrates beneath me and around me and within me and I shrink away, eyes wide. But I should know by now that my fear has no affect on him - if anything, it only makes him more angry. In one swift movement he has leaped toward me, greasy hand catching the side of my face and slamming my skull into the drywall with a sickening crack. My vision breaks (just like his heart. just like our family. just like my life) and I slump to the ground, fingers clawing at the world to prevent it from reeling away and orbs rolling uselessly in their sockets. Daddy straightens. Daddy watches. Daddy stands back and laughs.

"He loves me, Mama," I whisper, bowing my head slightly as the first few sheets of rain begin to fall. "He's my daddy and he loves me. Because he's supposed to. Because he has to." My voice is choked now, and I feel the tightening in my chest trying to twist me inside out and expose all my vulnerabilities to the harsh winds and icy drops. "He just has to love me, Mama, because no one else will. No one else wants to love the broken, scared little girl. He's all I have."

The birds love me, too, of course. The spread their wings, feathers trembling on the breeze, and they fly for me. Sometimes at night I dream that I'm soaring away, up past the clouds and the stars to wherever the birds go. And I can finally breathe free of my phobias and pain and loneliness. But I am not a bird and I cannot fly - I am eternally land locked, face upturned toward the unachievable wonders just a breath away. And what do you do at night, when it's so blantantly obvious that your dreams are too far away and reality too close?

Sometimes miracles are all I have left to believe in.

"I miss you, Mama," I murmur, hand falling heavily to my side. The rain slips over my skin, a comforting chill on spreading bruises and fresh cuts. I'm so dead inside I might as well be a corpse, six feet beneath the ground with a bestilled heart and an empty mind. But chaos seems to enjoy holding me back from the world of the dead and I let it because every moment I tell myself that it can't get any worse. It always does, but I tell myself anyway. And now, Daddy's waiting for me at home with a fresh bottle and that crooked smile. Count your moments, Luciana, because you haven't got many left. He will shout at me. He will push me. He will hurt me.

Daddy loves me. I know he does.

But I'll sleep in the graveyard tonight, just in case.

On the heels of war and wonder
There's a stormy world up there
You can't whisper above the thunder
But you can fly anywhere

[OOC: Blaaah, will finish coding later]