by K, Copyright 2011
The wind bit her nose so roughly that she thought it might be blood drizzling down from her nostrils rather than a simple chill-induced runny nose. She reached up with her fingers, swiping just above her upper lip. She swiped again, unsure that she actually made contact. The numbness of her face prevented the feel of her cold, rough fingertips. Seeing nothing on her fingers satisfied her as she returned to her task at hand. Her grip around the handle slipped frequently as she continued to force the head of the shovel into the raw frozen earth. Cracking noises shattered the peaceful night as the moon hid silently behind a cloud. She shifted her feet, almost bringing herself to the ground. Her naked feet felt like blocks of ice, unwilling to move, unwilling to cooperate. She instinctively tossed the shovel aside and reached down, clawing at the tops of her feet, a scream rising in her throat with no escape. She fell to her knees and began frantically digging at the earth with her own fingers. The frustration of her slow progress tormented her mind. She dropped her hands out of exhaustion, raising her head up to the moon just as it exposed itself once again. Her festering pain continued to rise within, seeking desparately to be released. She opened her chapped mouth ready to succomb to the wailing and keening as a hand grabbed her shoulder. The light shake of this grasp froze her pain and sorrow, shaking it down into the depths, to resurface another day. She turned to see a familiar face, contorted in shock. She looked down to see her own nakedness, tinted blue for the sleeping world to see. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders as she carefully rose to her feet. She took one last glimpse of the wooden cross that protruded from the earth like a pockmark upon a face. She slowly followed away from where she longed to be, noticing flesh and dirt caked beneath her finger nails, and the taste of blood upon her lips.