by John I Nash

Viewing from above there is something laid out in the mist motionless it is. On the cold hard ground it can be found. I do not wish to look, for it seems familiar, glancing now and then and again at this thing. Human form it takes, familiar again, I want to know it not. Sinking into the ground, pulled down from beneath; I can see the memorial wreath laying close by. Descending into the dirt it hurts to witness, this can not be hallowed ground, no God to be found in this forsaken place. Tortured moans are heard, grinding teeth from beneath. From below the ground benevolent figures emerge without a sound, red eyes aglow they surround this familiar one, like wild dogs surrounding carrion. They press the body into the earth as it opens it's eyes in horror and raises an arm in fruitless defense. I find myself sinking from above as the cold ground envelops me, one final push and I am below the earth as I gasp for air no mercy is found. All those from above join me as we sink into the depths of shared despair, I call to God but he does not hear as darkness surrounds me and I submerge into the river of oblivion.

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