Amelia 4042

Resting Place

     Adam awoke coughing clumps of soil from his throat. His heavy breathing opened a slit in the earth where the sun’s light leaked within the darkness. The light stung his eyes as it always did when he came back to himself, along with the dirt caving in, falling into his eyes and mouth. But the soil felt cool against his skin. Like a consoling blanket.

      Of all the places, Adam hated waking up beneath the ground most. Dying sun! He bemoaned while lying in his own grave.

      After all this time, still, he needed a moment. Some time for the panic to settle. A chance to slow his breathing. As he waited Adam rubbed his palms against the soil till they bled, burrowing his fingers into the dirt.

      At least it’s not a coffin this time. He felt with a sense of relief.

      Adam would’ve usually dug himself free by now. But it was all becoming too tiresome. He just lay in the cool of the earth thinking, I have no idea what comes after this. Priests and mystics say our souls have always been around, that they’ll still be around after we die. But how do they know for sure? How can they!?

      He felt the maggots slinking between the creases of his skin. Those damn Priests barely understand their sacred book! How the hell could they know a thing about something so intangible as death. The nothingness is what scares me most. The darkness. But the longer I live, the more nothingness seems like a welcome rest.

      When Adam had finally finished pondering and complaining, he dug himself out of the grave he lay in. Out of breadth, standing beside the black hole, he checked his pockets for his knife. They were filled with nothing but bugs and dirt. He even searched his grave to find it. The blade was gone.

      Those kids probably took it. He thought. No matter, odds are they’ll need it more than me.

      Adam rested against his tombstone, catching his breath, occasionally coughing up the dirt still in his lugs. After some time, he pulled himself up on his knees and read the inscription chiseled into the tombstone.

~The resting place of a hero.

Unknown, not forgotten.

Always here.

      Couldn’t have said it better myself. He thought. Adam snuck back into the decrepit shack,  gathered a couple needles and thread then headed south as he’d originally planned.

      The further south he traveled the warmer the nights felt. Weeks later Adam sat in the back of a wagon surrounded by refugees fleeing the war in the north. The ride was rather pleasant this time around. He wasn’t headless and stuck between rotting corpses. His feet hung from the back of the cart dangling, swinging like a child while he whistled songs he learned through the years to entertain the children.    

      The heat here in the south covered Adam in sweat but a breeze swept by every now and again, cooling his skin. The skies were clear and filled with clusters of stars. The moon’s gentle glow cast a shade of light on the trail and dense forest surrounding them. The ominous yet enchanting night reminded Adam of his years spent on the settlements of Divlrean. The nights were long and its large moon had a beautiful glow that lit the landscape like the sun.

      The cart slowed to a stop “Hey, night-skin.” the driver called to Adam “This is as far as I can take you. Featherstone is just down that path. Be careful in that city. They don’t take to kindly to night-skinners around these lands.”

      “Yea, I know. But thanks for the heads up.”

       The old man was right. Though Adam was fleeing the war, in all truth he was just trading one headache for another. As the horse drug the rickety cart down the trail Adam looked in Featherstone's direction where he could see the scattered lights of the city. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the city, he thought with a sense of elation.