In most stories, death is normally the final stage of the book; the last turn of the page consists of the last breath- wether it be the main character, the enemy or a friend, it normally evolves into a tragic tale of how life leads to the inevitable end.

But this is not just a story. But for argument's sake, we shall call it a story. And this story starts in a graveyard.

R.I.P

Here lies Damien Black

~

Son, Brother and Friend

1994 - 2011

A woman dressed from head to toe in pure jet black stood emotionlessly by the melancholy scene unfurlding in front of her. A cloud of black netting interrupted her empty eyes as they lingered on the stone which represented the ending of a life; in a sense, the ending of her life.

A tear rolled insignifficantly down her ivory cheeks. She didn't seem to notice the small drip leaving a trail of wetness behind. She didn't notice anything; her eyes mind and soul were locked onto the gravestone. Because though she didn't- or couldn't- show it, the emotions were erputing around inside her like bombs.

Because to her, 'here lies Damien Black' means 'here lies my everything; my soul, my life, a part of me I can never let go. Here lies my son.'

RATE THIS CHAPTER!

Author guidance for This story

The white place was inspired by this- http://youtu.be/r_8ydghbGSg

updated Aug 16 '11 by DaneTrotter