In The Garden of Stones

 by

 Lucy Pepperdine

 Copyright © 2012 Lucy Pepperdine

 All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, products, businesses, organisations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity, otherwise all names, characters, places and incidents, are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

 Cover design by the author

 For Derrick. My beacon of light in this dark and frightening world. ♥

IN THE GARDEN OF STONES

        1

She treads carefully between the headstones, the grass velvety and cool under her bare feet, droplets of dew wetting her toes, soaking into the fabric of her long skirt. Above her, through the quivering leaves of the mountain ash, gold edged white wisps drift lazily through the shifting palette of early morning pinks and purples and mauves. Soon the sun will breach the horizon to bleach the colours to a uniform blue, banish the mist and kiss the exotic daylilies, strengthening warm and light awakening their resting blooms and releasing their fragrance.

From its perch on the granite obelisk, the bright eyed robin's song is a delightful melody, filling the dawn with innocent joy, adding another dimension to the clean, crisp freshness of a new day.

She wants to fill herself with this purity, sample the air, closes her eyes and breathes in…only there is nothing there. No dawn, no dew, no grass, and no air, only beetles and snakes in the darkness, clicking and hissing.

A snake is in her mouth, its head down her throat. It hisses air into her, too much, filling her lungs until she fears they might burst, and then with a click, steals it back.

Hiss. In. Click. Out. The rhythm is all wrong. She has to get the snake out or she'll suffocate.

She gropes blindly, fingers scrabbling to grab its tail and yank it out. The snake resists, probing the back of her throat with its forked tongue.

Now she can smell flowers, sweet and heady jasmine, and knows this is what Heaven smells like and that death is near. She wants to scream, but there is no air in her to make the sound.

And then the hissing and the ticking cease and something cool and smooth and rubbery takes hold of her hand, easing her fingers from the serpent's ribbed body.

'You're okay, Grace. Keep still and let me take this out for you.'

A soft, female voice. An angel?

A tug, followed by a sharp burning sensation on her cheek.

'Take a deep breath in for me through your mouth please, Grace,' the angel says.

Grace tries, but the snake won't let her. Fight it. Fight—

A gasped inhalation fills her lungs with warm, fresh air and the snake moves, the length of it sliding up her airway, touching the back of her throat, making her cough and retch to the point of vomiting.

And it is gone. The serpent expelled.

She swallows rapidly, convulsively, throat burning and sore.

'Well done. It's out. Now let's have a proper look at you.'

The darkness shifts, allowing light to filter through lids fused closed. Cool wetness bathes them, softening and loosening the seal.