Short Stories

Grave Pain

"Pœnitet enim me ego autem reddidi tibi mala."

Her voice is dry and hoarse, as if she's been screaming the phrase repeatedly; and it's just now starting to become painful to say. She's been here for hours, knelt over a grave. Her fingers forced into the soft dirt just enough to bury them up to her knuckles. Her forehead is pressed solemnly against the headstone, whereas the stone is now warm from her constant state of touch.
She sniffles and it hisses with a burn, her eyes are no longer closed and they are no longer leaking heart wrenching tears; but they also burn.
Hellfire has contaminated her skin, and the dreaded screams of forlornness and darkness fill her mind. Although they are demons in themselves screaming, she can only hear their words in her own voice.
Perhaps it was her screaming; she just can't remember.
The only thing she can hear now is one phrase, and one phrase forever.

"Pœnitet enim me ego autem reddidi tibi mala."

This isn't her fault, but her mind begs to differ.
So here she will remain. Here, she rot with the corpse buried six feet under. Here, is where she will lie in the end of it all. But for now, she only pleads for forgiveness from her own mind.

It's painful to lose someone, but it's even more painful when the only way you know how to deal with things is to blame it on yourself. Sometimes it feels like the end of not one life... But two.