Listen to My Story

Who knows what happens in the darkness when the sun goes beyond the distant horizon? I used to think that what was in the dark was no different from that of the light. How incorrect I was. It happened only a year ago. That night was one that seemed to last an eternity.

I found myself as I always did on the anniversary of her death. I stood, alone in the graveyard. I listened to the sounds of the earth; the cries of the dearly departed. People often think that silence is exactly what it is… silence. That is not the case. Silence is deafening, and sometimes meandering. There’s little to be heard in a graveyard at night aside from the chirping of crickets, and the breeze upon the grass. That is, if you’re not listening.

There’s a story behind every headstone that marks the hallowed grounds of a cemetery. We don’t think about it until we find ourselves burying our dead, but the fact remains. Those stones that go unnoticed and unvisited cry out to the world. ‘Listen to my story’ they say. I found myself listening that night.

I strolled through the grassy expanse. Dew sparkled within the cold light of the high moon and shimmered like silver flakes upon a black sea. I wandered aimlessly as I always did. I found myself forcing my thoughts into a coherent memory of that day so long ago. That was the day she was ripped from this world.

I came upon a gravestone that stood lonesome in the dark. Its words had long since faded away from the neglect of time. Moss had overtaken its once brilliant shine and cracks violated its elegance. It stood in my path like a wayward soldier defending his homeland.

I found myself in silent awe of its beauty. The coarse stone rubbed beneath my fingertips and I felt its sorrow. ‘Listen to my story’ it said to me. Who was buried beneath the black earth? I could not say.

The date carved deep within the rock was all that remained. ‘1797’ stood among the erosion like an ever defiant beast unwilling to submit.
I found myself in mourning of this person’s fate. I shall never forget that feeling that came over me. She came to me that night – a woman dressed in white. She glowed within the darkness like a lighthouse upon the stormy seas. Her bare feet never touched the ground as she moved across the cold earth.

I watched her as she knelt down to the forgotten grave and tears came upon her soft, pale cheeks, and I realized she was the one buried beneath me. ‘Listen to my story’ I heard in my head as her emerald eyes stared into my soul.

I felt sorrow, pain, and suffering as she wept. The young woman had given me the gift of sight, and I saw her life. She was the wife of a prominent man of the city, who had found herself in the aim of his drunken rage. He beat her to death, just as I beat my late wife. I was blinded by the pangs of a shattered love. And it was my anger that led her to pass.

I could feel the impact of every blow; the pain of every strike of the bludgeon. It came to me like a tidal wave. She continued to weep as she looked at me, and I found myself hating the world and all those like me.

Darkness swallowed me as I ran from the grave – from myself. I died that night in that hallowed graveyard. I came to face who I was, and I ran like the coward I am.

It was my fault that she passed, and I never forgave myself for the way I was. She deserved better than I could give her. Much like any woman that tolerates the drunken rage of their husband. She died by my hands. No. By his. I left him there in that cemetery to die alone in the eyes of the dead.

I left behind the dark parts of my soul and moved on. The body fell to the wet, cold earth as I ripped its fabrics of life from it. I was never supposed to be part of such a monstrosity. Damn him, and damn me for letting it happen. She deserved better.

Listen to my story, for I have something to tell you dear listener. I was a good man in spirit, trapped in a wicked man’s body. Know that I never intended to harm her as I did, and now my punishment is to relive that night for the rest of my eternity here in this awful place. I hear the deceased whispering to me. ‘God shall never forgive you’ they say. Nor should he dare, for I cannot forgive myself.

They mock my footsteps. They taunt my spirit. I’m doomed to exist in a mire of disdain… forever.

Listen to my story. Know that there is time to save yourself. I know that as you look upon my stone, you shall hear my voice in death. I cry to you. I want you to see what I did. I want you to feel what I did. Will you not look at me? Will you not hear my voice? Am I nothing more than a whisper on the wind, destined to blow by like a dead leaf from an old oak tree?

Listen to my story, and know that whoever you are, I forgive you. I love you. I will never forget you. Thank you for noticing this marker – this final memory of who and what I am. This stone is all I am. The bones that lie beneath your shoes are not but the man I was, and what I was… was a monster.

Word Count - 978