Day 220

The weather has been cold recently, not enough for ice but here it was.
In the midst of all the other graves this one was unmarked and covered with
a thick layer of clearish, grey ice.

You could see the dirt beneath the ice, it still looked fresh.
Flowers had been laid there before the ice formed and were now pressed flat,
thin stems sunken into the soil like they'd been pulled down.

They were being pulled down.
Tiny blue fingers were clutching onto the flowers, though they were near
impossible to see through the thick layer of ice... maybe they weren't real?

The flowers suddenly vanished under the soil.
And all was silent.
The graveyard seemed to hold its' breath and nothing moved.

Nothing, except the hand.

It appeared again, pressing against the ice, feeling, testing its' strength.
When it found no obvious weaknesses it began punching the ice, tearing its'
skin to reveal maggot filled flesh.

The more it pounded, the more maggots were smeared against the surface
until the whole grave was coated with a thick layer of the corpse-eating insects.

Again, it stopped, thinking up its' next move perhaps?

The wrecked stump withdrew and the other hand took its' place.
It drew a line down the mess.
And another, and another.

It was writing something.

bailey
1802

The "2" finished with a scrawled attempt at a flourish and the hand proceeded
to clear the rest of the grime from the ice, leaving a filthy square around the name.

The hand withdrew again and moments later came back cleaned of the crushed maggots.

It gently pressed against the icy tomb's corners before freezing in place just beside the name.

And all else was still.