Categories > Original > Drama > Black and Blue and Red All Over
Prologue: Cemetery Nightlife
0 reviewsOriginal story, don't steal. The rating will be going up in future chapters. A relationship gone bad, riddled with cheating lies and abuse. Chris Cade loves Christopher with all her heart but he co...
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It was cold.
Just like every other night I've come here. But I don't mind, I love being here in the cemetery, I always feel so much more at home here. I love the darkness, the silence, and when the wind whips through the branches of the gnarly old trees. The gravestones all bear a name, no matter how weathered the stone is, you can always make out faint lettering.
There is one particular grave that I find quite peculiar. Though it is not the words on said gravestone, nor the name of the man who died, but the flower that is left nearly every day on it. Its always a black carnation lying across the grave, I wish I knew who left such a sweet little gift for a dead love. His mother? Maybe a mourning lover? A secret admirer? The lists goes on forever.. The current carnation is wilting, it fits right in with the rest of the graveyard.
Well, I'm going to be here a while so I might as well tell you all about myself. My names Chris, Chris Cade. I'm fifteen years old and I suffer from insomnia all the time, which is why I'm here right now. It's two thirty in the morning and I feel so perfectly alone. You know, cemetery's are good at making you feel like that.
I can faintly see a man walking towards the grave I'm sitting against, you know, the one with the black carnation. As he comes closer, I notice he looks young, young but tired. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, he walks slowly, at a firm pace. In his hand, a blackened carnation.
Just like every other night I've come here. But I don't mind, I love being here in the cemetery, I always feel so much more at home here. I love the darkness, the silence, and when the wind whips through the branches of the gnarly old trees. The gravestones all bear a name, no matter how weathered the stone is, you can always make out faint lettering.
There is one particular grave that I find quite peculiar. Though it is not the words on said gravestone, nor the name of the man who died, but the flower that is left nearly every day on it. Its always a black carnation lying across the grave, I wish I knew who left such a sweet little gift for a dead love. His mother? Maybe a mourning lover? A secret admirer? The lists goes on forever.. The current carnation is wilting, it fits right in with the rest of the graveyard.
Well, I'm going to be here a while so I might as well tell you all about myself. My names Chris, Chris Cade. I'm fifteen years old and I suffer from insomnia all the time, which is why I'm here right now. It's two thirty in the morning and I feel so perfectly alone. You know, cemetery's are good at making you feel like that.
I can faintly see a man walking towards the grave I'm sitting against, you know, the one with the black carnation. As he comes closer, I notice he looks young, young but tired. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, he walks slowly, at a firm pace. In his hand, a blackened carnation.
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