The TestMature

Two friends bound by eternal freedom learn he true value of life when stepping down the graveyard path in one scorching summer afternoon, with a finger motion and a bang, the friendship ends and one is entrapped by guilt.

Chapter 1

The glistened moonlight beamed down upon the ground, illuminating off the birthplace of the undead. The moon hovered upon the night sky only to be diminished by the veiling jet black sky.
   The relentless downpour cascaded down upon the saturated soil, trickling down the jagged graveyard path, as if predicting a flood. Thunder and lightning boomed and crackled almost igniting a few sparks in the blustery wind. Shards of ochre flew out landed on the ground. Petrified kids squealed in the dark, clasping their parents hands and wailing noisily.
  In the distance, past the murky mist and vexatious fog, the graveyard of St. George's cathedral waited in slumber. Water oozed down the headstones, tombstones and igneous rock statues of the deceased and holy spirits. A flamboyant woman traipses down the steps unaware of the atmosphere and conditions that surround her; she just ambles lazily grieving over the news of the death of a loved one. 
  Carrying a bright scarlet rose, mysteriously standing out unlike anything in the grey mist, she leans down and places it over a tombstone which indicated:

Benedict Hart
A loving father, husband, grandfather and the best friend anyone could have;
Rest in God's Graceful Garden.
Missed by everyone x

 The lady claps her hands together in rhythm to say a prayer in silence and trudges off again.
  Mere minutes pass before she is near the exit, but is then blocked by a shrouded silhouette. The lady stands there puzzled and takes a few steps towards the man; everything covered a blood-red stained eye. "Excuse me?" asks the lady, who has now stopped in her trail. Enquiring again "Excuse me?"
  Still nothing but silence.
  By now her heart is pounded and her blood is rushing. "Excuse me?" she asks for a third time. In a cold eery voice, the figure finally responds with, "Run!"
  Dumbfounded, the woman saunters back a few steps.
  "RUN!!!!" the figure roars, pulling out a shiny weapon.
  The woman now is rushing, not looking back with the branches and twigs of trees whipping at her forehead...but it's too late.


The lady stops, colliding with the pulse; nothing, just left in the wet path to die.

The End

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