A short story
Jonas glanced at the imposing alabaster angel above the grave. He craved to capture its gaze, but no matter which position he peered from, the winged protector of the churchyard seemed to have a far-off look and wouldn’t greet his eyes.
He reached in his pocket, expecting to locate his journal, but it wasn’t there. Nor were his smokes and lighter. He would have to stick around in the drizzle with nothing to do but stare at the gold indents of the words engraved on the memorial slab.
“Here rests, at last, J. Buscombe. He always sought the next big thing, but alas, never found it.”
He sighed. One of his relatives was in the ground, but which one? He suffered from brain fog of late, and couldn’t recall why he was at the cemetery. He was supposed to meet someone, perhaps?
The afternoon was chilly, and a sharp wind whistled among the graves, unsettling decaying flower offerings and rustling the autumn leaves of the boneyard’s giant beech trees.
But Jonas didn’t feel the raw gusts or rain on his skin. In fact, he noted he sensed nothing. At least, nothing physical. As boredom took hold, he wondered why J. Buscombe hadn’t stopped seeking something out of reach and appreciated the moment.
He thought of how his dead relative had wasted life and saw a few drops of liquid splash onto his polished brown boots. While imagining the water was rain, he moved his hand to his cheek to sweep away a stray hair, and noticed doing so made his palm wet.
Was he weeping? Surely not? His confusion about what was taking place didn’t last, though, since the angel above the tombstone shifted, causing Jonas to gape in astonishment as it cloaked him in its arms and flew with him into the drab sky.
Without Shadows, You Can’t See What’s Beautiful in the Light
You need contrast, even if you hate it at the time
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved