D E S P O T I S M

18

After burying Elina's body, we find refuge beneath the sprawling boughs of an ancient yew tree in the graveyard with her father. All other people have disappeared, including her mother, who is exhausted and unable to walk even a short distance. Nehemiah has been a tremendous aid to them. Throughout, he comforted Clara and informed her husband that he would make sure she got home safely. Even though Nehemiah has asked Elina's father to come along with him in the van, he has refused and said he wants to sit there for a few more precious moments longer among the silent gravestones. He insisted that he could sense her otherworldly presence in the stillness of the graveyard. Casting our gazes upon the mound of soil, adorned with a profusion of flowers and flickering candles, where Elina's body now rests, Dad, Uncle, and I recline on the damp grass, yearning for Nehemiah's return with the vehicle.

Elina's father stands before the mound of soil that lovingly cradles his beloved daughter. His head bows, and his palms intertwine in a silent plea. No tears well in his eyes; instead, a vacant gaze, devoid of hope. He carries the weight of weariness and sorrow, as though he has slipped into another realm, a distant place far removed from the reverence of the graveyard, lost in his own thoughts.

"Never thought I'd be here, visiting my daughter." He laments, his voice quivering, shattering into a mournful, lost melody. "My precious daughter," his voice breaks again, his shoulders are shaking, and tears begin their descent, rolling down his cheeks. "Sh-she didn't deserve to be here. My precious little child went through a lot of pain. Oh, god."

The candles drip tears of wax as they slowly succumb to pain, and the flowers wither away in a slow, mournful death. I clutch my old camera to my chest. A mournful breeze softly rustles through my hair like a gentle caress, gently tugging at my heartstrings. He shudders, caught in the unrelenting hug of agony. My dad stands up and moves over to where Elina's father is. By placing his hand on the man's shoulder, my dad seeks to calm the tempest within him.

"I can't bear it! The pain!... It's really hur-hurts! It hurts a lot, truly. It stings to think of what they did to my daughter! M-my poor baby..." He bellows, his voice raw with grief. Tears stream down his face as he cries out, his throat on the brink of shattering. "It feels like they killed me when they killed my daughter."

"I understand." Dad tries to comfort him, but all of it seems in vain.

"No! You don't understand! She was just a child!" He wails, dropping to his knees on the ground, as he tries to pull his hair in agony. "Please make this stop! Please make this pain go away! I can't... I just can't!"

Dad attempts to lift him from the ground, but the man remains seated in the depths of his despair. Uncle hurries over and joins the effort to provide comfort. His daughter's final resting place seemed too cruel a reality. It's a place he has never imagined himself, a place no parent should ever find themselves. My heart aches in protest at the injustice of it all. I can't fathom how fate has woven their destinies to this juncture, where the once-vibrant laughter and dreams of that young woman have been forever hushed.

I need some air.

I really need some air.

My heart starts to gallop, each beat pounding in my chest like a drumbeat of dread. I tensely stand up, my breath quickens but feels shallowing with each inhale. I am losing control. It is getting worse.

Ten, nine, eight...

I must catch my breath... I re-

Seven, six, five...

I need- It's not helping this time.

Before I can even process anything else in my head, I find myself sprinting away from them, hoping to seek calm in another corner of the graveyard. I hear my dad's voice, distant yet urgent, calling my name, imploring me to halt, but my feet refuse to obey. Because if I come to a stop, I believe the world around me might crush me, as if the very act of pausing would consign me to a fate worse than death. I struggle to draw a full breath, and my vision hazes, making it hard to see clearly. I can hear my black heels echoing on the narrow flagstone path that winds through the graveyards between the lush green grass and wildflowers. I gently wipe away the tears on my cheek, the chill of the Victorian tombstone seeping through the fabric of my jacket as I clutch my camera. I gently wipe away the tears on my cheek and clutch my camera in my hands, the chill of the Victorian tombstone seeping through the fabric of my black dress as I lean against it. There, I can hear my own sniffles more loudly than normal. My eyes fixate on the ground, tracing the path of tears as they trickle down and kiss my weary feet, while my back against the tombstone slowly slides down. I sink down onto the grass, the dampness seeping through my clothing, feeling the cool embrace of the earth beneath me. I draw my knees up to my chest, enveloping them in the circle of my arms.