Remembrance

Remembrance

Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli

(648 words)

Prompt: Write about an un-birthday.





         The tombstone used to gleam under the silent gaze of the moon. The grass around it used to be trimmed at an even length. Not anymore. Not for the last few years. It was sad, in a way, to acknowledge that the world had forgotten about me, that it had moved on, leaving me behind. Twenty-four years ago today, on August 31st, was the day I died.

         I read the engraved text for the sake of familiarity; I could recall everything, even the exact spots where the gold paint had flecked off. Jonathan Alexander Riley, Son, Brother, Husband. He returned too soon. I chuckled at this; the unintended joke never grew stale. I returned, all right. Just not to God.

         I closed my eyes and willed the events that lead me here to surface. Almost a quarter of a century had gone by but I could still replay the gore, the carnage, the horror of that day. My wife and I were strolling at the park after dinner. Before we knew it, a group of three people jumped on us. At least that was what we thought at first. It turned out they were more beasts than humans, a concept I could not comprehend when we were attacked. They clawed at us, ripping away clothes and skin. I was almost mad with pain. My wife screamed. I screamed. When her screams grew silent, I prayed my death would follow suit.

         “A bit morbid, don’t you think?” came a feminine voice from behind. I was too absorbed to notice her presence, but I did not put my guard up. Not with Tabitha. “Don’t you get tired of this?”

         “Why would I be?” I whispered, my eyes still fixed on my own tombstone.

         “I find it depressing, reminding yourself about your death, celebrating your…un-birthday.”

         I chuckled again. “Un-birthday?”

         “You know, when you became an undead.”

         I turned to face Tabitha. She was one of those who lived up to the stereotype, with her black leather pants and jacket, and her straight black hair tied in a tight ponytail, contrasting with her white-marble skin. Her sapphire eyes danced with mirth, and her pale lips curved in a smile.

         “I like to remember.”

         “Of death?”

         “Of life.”

         “At a cemetery?” Her fine eyebrow was cocked and her eyes were wide, but the smile did not leave her lips.

         “Being here reminds me of how life was before I died. Of the people left I behind. It reminds me of my humanity.” I rose up and dusted grass and dirt off my faded jeans. “It keeps us apart from them. The beasts.”

         The smile left her. “We are nothing like them.”

         “Yet we are the same. We feed off the living, just like them.”

         “No,” she said, shaking her head. “We are different.”

         “That’s why I want to remember.”

         She sighed. I implored her with my eyes to understand. Lately she succumbed to her urges, her hunger, much more readily. She was starting to become one of them, and I found it harder to contain her. She needed to remember her humanity. She stood still, I stood facing her. I felt the moon moving.

         Finally she stepped forward and kneeled before the tombstone beside mine. She traced the engraved writings. I knew what she was tracing. The text was as familiar to me as the engraving on my own. Tabitha Jane Hudson-Riley, Daughter and Wife. May she be with her love for eternity.

         Tabitha had not visited her grave since the day she clawed her way out of casket and earth. She did not want to be reminded of her death. I saw her shoulders shaking in a silent sob. I stood beside her and rested my hand on her left shoulder. She held my hand.

         “Happy un-birthday, love.”

         She looked up at me and smiled, my personal sun in this endless night.