ode to the graveyard girl; dars [vt blitz]

Here, in the Victor’s Village, there is no indication of day passed to night and vice versa. Here, the curtains cover the windows so heavily that I do not bother to thrust them aside at the start of new time.

Instead, I sit in the dark and refuse to acknowledge the three windows of my own. Home only had one; home only had one broken, shattered window that was better than these three put together. Home is not here, but I will call it as such to appease the few requests of my mother.

I’m laying now with the covers pulled up to my chin and the room pitch black— this way I cannot be put to shame when the inevitable afternoon and evening comes to pass and I am still here. I begin to doze off, sleep takes over my fingers first and then crawls up my arms until coming to rest heavy over my eyelids, and just in the last second it will take to be unconscious entirely, the door is swung open.

I close my eyes of my own accord and sigh before bringing myself to face the light and whoever believed their presence importance enough to come at this exact moment in time.

“You better be here to tell me the house is on fire.”

But he makes no allowances for my bitter tone and instead nudges my body over to the far side of the bed before sitting himself down beside me quietly, as though I have every invitation to fall straight back asleep.

I prop myself up on my elbows after two minutes passed, and I find a scrunched brow plastered upon his face. Graveyard girl’s got a dying boy in her bed and she does not know how to save him.

Graveyard girl’s got six dead bodies hidden under the bed and just wants to be held by the one still alive. Graveyard girl’s afraid of herself but will not admit to the fear— just wants to be swallowed up by someone else. Graveyard girl speaks, “What’s wrong, Erastus?” and tries not to bury him more.