The Angel Cries for God

Charlotte

"This is a good one," the girl remarked to herself, fingers trailing over the cold, slab of stone. She admired the intricate pattern on the headstone, twirling and twisting like tendrils of hair caught in a gusty wind. She liked the rough texture it gave, liked the numerous cracks and dents that made it so imperfect. Much like herself.

She let her hand trail off, falling limply to her side as she dragged her feet through dewy grass. The murky sky loomed above, fogged over like a mirror after a hot shower. It was all too much like her mind. Backed up like a clogged sink, her brain was scrambled and she had a hard time recalling what had brought her to this cemetery. Better yet, she had a hard time recalling why she was even alive. She had no prior memories to waking up, no memory of a mother or father, no recollection of years spent in school. Nothing. 

It was as if someone had pressed a delete button and wiped all trace of her existence from the world, had cast her aside to rot like the many bodies that lay below her trembling feet.

Her name was Charlotte. 

Charlotte did not matter.

She felt the cold seeping into her skin, sinking deep into her veins and muscles, constricting them tight like a snake would. But she didn't seem to notice. Charlotte could only focus on the graves, the protruding mounds of dirt that beckoned to her like a mouth-watering feast. They seemed to call out to the poor girl, reminding her damaged brain of a time long ago when she could recount the person her name stood for. Someone who used to matter. Not her.

Her feet barely left the ground as she moved towards another grave, moving much like a dead corpse herself. She latched herself onto the small tombstone, crumpling on the hard-packed earth as her strength failed her.

But it didn't matter. She didn't matter.

Once again she caressed the hard rock, loving how alive her skin felt as it brushed against the rugged surface. Her body protested against the cold, crawling against her bones at every gust of rain-tinted wind. But despite her dropping temperature and shrinking muscles, she stayed glue to the tombstone, wondering who the person six-feet under had been. Had they mattered? Did they have memories they could call upon at any moment?

She felt hallow inside, felt as dead as the rotting body below her. Why couldn't she nail herself shut inside a wooden coffin and sleep forever? Anything was better than the miserable existence she was living now. She was no one.

She didn't matter.

Tears flowed down her flushed cheeks, staining the earth of the dead. She howled in despair like a wolf at the moon, longing for the missing part that would ease the clamp on her heart. And, as if in response, the clouds above released their heavy burden, pouring rain down on the shivering, forgotten girl.

Charlotte flopped down on the grave, curling her frozen limbs into her chest in a feeble attempt to disappear like her mind. She imagined the dead were weeping along with her, crying out as their hearts longed for what was forever lost.

How could she feel this destroyed after only waking a few hours prior? It made no sense. She felt dead, so why wasn't she? Why was she still here?

Theses thoughts only made her feel more miserable, only added to the over-powering anguish that was already drowning her in dark waters. She could no longer feel her limbs, they were long gone; eaten away by the frigid drops that rained down on her. She hoped they would numb her brain next, devour her thoughts and leave her as the true hollow shell that she felt she was.

But through her watery eyes, she saw a figure. A lean shadow outlined against the ever darkening sky. Was it one of the dead? She certainly hoped it was. Her spirits lifted as she imagined the decaying body stumbling towards her, leaning down and whispering in her ear that she was really dead, and that she would accompany them down, down into the earth where breathing would be impossible and hearts would stop. Where she could finally rest.