This hidden place where the wind blows sofly across the cemetary
by spaceboy381
Posted to Stories on 2003-10-24 23:26:00
The air fresh of life’s breath . . . Dana brushed her hair out of her mouth, an autumn wind soon rising to winter’s gale.
Thanks be to the goddess . . . the wiccan holiday brought out the best in Dana . . .
morning burst in Dana’s mouth . . . a small tab of paper . . . an endless supply of creative thoughts. Her own neiborhood and she didn’t know where the fuck she was.
A cool wind blew softly through a cemetary, around suburban houses . . . the living and the dead . . . big science and no word from a spirit guide, a dense Shaman forest of trees and the heavy stone markers . . . who was the living? There go the dead . . . count from one to twenty five . . . the sound of an old beat pickup truck, a red and siver chevy, more rust than paint, with a motor that sounded like a hammering of gods.
Thats what a group of male chauvanistic gods is called, thought Dana, the goddess gives me wings . . . fairies and angels . . . Dana’s tiny frame almost flew away with a gust of wind, a breaking wave of reality, Dana knew where she was in the Graveyard.
what a bad plot for a horror movie, so this must be a love story . . . sentimental, Dana belived.
The clicking whining of a distant train . . . or, a truck up on the curving high way. The graveyard flowed past her and then broke aginst the fence Dana hopped over to sit cross legged in he back yard, an ivocation to thw whispers of demons, whisps through the still green leaves of a maple tree.
minimalistic, a simple sketch of trees, houses and zombies in their houses tucked in front of their TVs, soft, dying grass, soft under her ass.
“Lets fly first class.” Dana said aloud, regardless of the night.
to tired to write any more but Dana will reoccur.
critisize me, constuctively.