100 Theme Challenge #47

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47. Snow

The snow was melting on his tongue. Little cold crystals slowly falling from the sky, perfect and not one the same as the other. He never thought he'd witness snow falling again, and yet here he was standing, face turned towards the sky like an offering to the gods. He couldn't feel the cold, his eyes didn't even have the reflex to blink when snowflakes would fall into them, but he could see. He could hear the wind caressing him, and the fresh smell was soothing. His breath would create white little wisps, and he felt his lips widen in a smile. He looked behind him, to where his grave stood, with the hole in the ground. He didn't know how he was alive, but the feelings were rushing at him so fast he didn't care to know why at the moment. His nails were broken, his digits bloody and dirty and some twisted at an odd angle, but he didn't feel any pain. He aimlessly walked through the cemetery, silent except for the soft howl of the wind, the street lights casting yellow circles he unconsciously avoided.

There was so many tombstones, so many, but only the ground at his own grave had been opened from under. Why was that?

Or was it? A grunt near lured him, and he crouched beside a tombstone that said Keylan Blake and began to dig. He seemed to have more strength than before, as he didn't have any problem tossing the snow and dirt around, and he grasped a hand. He helped the man out of his coffin, as dirty as he was. Pale, almost white eyes stared back at him, and he brushed off some dirt from his cheek even though he was covered in it. They didn't need to use words as they looked at each other. It was both amazing and frightening, to be breathing, but reassuring he wasn't the only one anymore. He didn't remember him from his previous life, but did he remember anything at all? He couldn't even recall his own name.

Others crawled out of the ground, and they helped them. They were about a dozen now. He returned to his own grave, thinking that his name might help him remember something, anything. William Brightson. His name felt odd when he formed the syllables without speaking them out loud. Pronouncing our name always felt weird anyhow, but it didn't bring him a spark of illumination about who he had been in his previous life. It wasn't frustrating though. William believed it was an one-time opportunity to begin things again. Whatever the reason he died was to stay in the dark, behind him.

Keylan joined him, all of them still mute, and they stayed or a while just to enjoy the snow. It was so peaceful, nothing was bothering his mind,. He smiled at Keylen and together, they began to walk out of the cemetery.

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