#dnsotd

“Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” A deep voice says. That voice… I never thought I’d hear it again. I spin around and almost trip over a lump of grass. There he is, with a halo of fading sunlight around him.

           “Archer?” The name leaves my lips before I can stop it and a lopsided smirk grazes his lips. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against a tall gravestone with an angel propped on top, hands clasped in a praying position and empty eyes, seeing nothing, but seeming to see all at the same time.

           “In the flesh,” he says and meets my gaze. “Well… Almost.” He tilts his head to one side and studies me. Shock overtakes me and I can’t find the words to say. Tears well up in my eyes, and the relief of seeing him standing in front of me is overwhelming. It’s been years, but there he is. Alive.

           “I never thought I’d see you again,” I breathe out, not sure whether he heard me or not. He pushes himself away from the praying angel and walks slowly over to me. He stops once he’s just a few inches away from me, and I feel our breaths intertwine in the air between us.

           “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” He doesn’t touch me, but he might as well have. The air is charged with old feelings that never went away, and I feel another shiver run down my spine. I look up into his golden eyes, the same shade as the sky when the sun rises over a deep turquoise ocean. “And you’re here, with me.” He leans in closer to me, our lips almost touching. “Forever.”

 Everything goes quiet. No sounds. Just eerie silence filling my ears, my head. I can just see his eyes looking into mine, and then everything else goes dark. Just black and gold. Then nothing at all.

<- Part 2

I can hear the sounds of the forest echo around me, lurking between the trees, watching. A deer startles when it hears me approach and scrambles into the undergrowth and out of sight. A flock of birds takes off from a nearby canopy when they hear the deer run off, and the forest is left in a deadly silence. A wind rustles through the leaves and it almost sounds as if someone is whispering to me. ‘Don’t answer,’ I think to myself and walk on through the bushes. ‘Do not answer.’

 The stone wall surrounding the cemetery rises out of the ground, tall and looming, out of nowhere. No one comes out here anymore. The graveyard is hidden away between thickets of trees, forgotten along with the occupants still buried here. A faded memory. I walk through the rusted iron gates, and they creak in protest. A high-pitched sound that pierces through the silence like a shrill scream. Out of place. Disturbing. It sends a chill down my spine, and I shiver.

 Once inside the gate, I look around for a moment before threading carefully between the graves. I don’t come here as often as I did anymore, but it has always been a place where I find peace, comfort. Surrounded by the dead, by people, without them being able to disturb me. It doesn’t feel as crowded as the high street, but there are probably more people here than in town on a good day.

 As I step between the old graves, I only have one thought; do not step on the graves. It’s a superstition I’ve had ever since I was young. My mum told me once when we were visiting my father’s grave. I tried to stray from the paved pathway to read the gravestones and she firmly grabbed my arm and pulled me back. She knelt down in front of me and said: “Do not step on the dead, Lily, you don’t know what kind of evil is resting in the soil you step on.” I didn’t pay much thought to it then, but it has stayed with me ever since in my subconscious.

 I walk over to a grave, fenced in by chains and my mother’s words reverberates in my head. The gravestone looks new, but that would be impossible. No one has been buried here since the 17th century. There is no name or date on the pristine cross, but as I come closer, I see the inscription carved into the white stone; “Blessed are those pure in heart.” A sense of dread washes over me in a cold wave and I take a tentative step back. A cold breeze whips my hair around my face and it suddenly feels as though the temperature has dropped ten degrees. I turn around to leave when I feel another presence in the graveyard with me.

-> Part 3

The shadows grow longer by the minute as the sun fades behind the trees. The sunset paints the sky with shades of bloody rubies and vibrant topazes. It’s almost as if time stands still; the only indication that time still exists is the slowly disappearing sun.

 My feet thud against the grass. Pinecones and dead leaves crunch under the soles of my feet with every step I take. The only other sounds around me are the wind blowing through the canopies and some birds’ mating call for the coming spring. It rained the night before, but even with the sun shining all day, the grass is still covered with droplets of dew, and a pale mist rises from the ground like elves dancing in the golden sunrays.

 I’m not following the forest path. The track has been carved through years of use, but are now being reclaimed by nature, and vines are growing across the soft indent in the ground. The path is a safe space, but I don’t want to be safe. There is no adventure in safe.