Of The Unknown

Prologue

The sound of his car door pangs through the vicinity. An echo thrums as the place is virtually free of any human life forms. Alive humans that is. A few crows or what he assumes to be fly above in a symmetrical circle. The clouds are murky and remind him of Elliot Bay. They're sad, mourning, grieving. A perfect description of the emotions he was feeling in this moment. Although it was no surprise, he felt this way every time he crossed over that iron fence.

A mist of his breath forms adjacent from his fathomless irises, an immediate response from the brisk chill in the air. He shoves his bare hands into the furnace of his jacket pockets, instantly warming in the suffocating wool. His dark shoes trudge through the damp grass; more turf than anything. It's just as absent and damaged as everything else fixated in this place. A tinge of regret pricks his heart strings. Why had he come out here? His subconscious very well knew that making the journey out here only brought heartache. The adventure down to that damn tombstone simply made everything more complicated for him. He fell directly back into that pit of despair and depression.

Albeit, alongside the regret came with the boatload of guilt. He'd shoved this off for months. Most always he made time to come out here, even on his worst days. His schedule was consistently hectic and obscure. He obtained not even an inch rhythm. He knows in his heart there could have been more effort on his part. Even if the visitations were merely a few minutes in length. There was something he could've done.

His cerulean orbs fixate on a few people making the trail down to their own loved ones. They're mourning, donned in black, an array of vivid colors bunched in a bouquet pressed carefully to their chests. Everyone obliviously assumes the dead can sense flowers placed over their graves. He shouldn't judge. He'd been one of them.

The primary year of her death, he'd brought brought tulips every week. It was a corny cliche she would've resented, but it brought him closure. It provided serenity for his mind even if it didn't bring her back to this world.

Three hundred sixty five days was enough to commemorate her memory with frilly flowers. These days he only comes out to jump start a conversation. Truth be told, he's always been a tad too chatty. Although, what can one expect? He comes from a family of four very talkative sisters. The kind of women who speak a million miles a minute. He'd simply adopted that attribute without even trying. She used to ascribe consistently over it.

"You're so freaking chatty! You just babble and babble and babble. How have your lips not fallen off yet from overuse?"

It feels like a lifetime ago she'd said something of the sorts. In retrospect it's been so languorous he's practically lost count of the years, months, weeks, days, hours. Then again who keeps track of minuscule details like those? Perhaps it has been that long since she's even uttered a word. Not that she's saying much these days. At least now when he sparks a divulgence she isn't going to retort with a snarky comment. She hasn't done that in a while do to the blatant fact she's dead.

The sky is a dreary grey. Overcast blankets the tiny radiation of sunlight. The sun tries with every ounce of might it holds to peek through. Ironically the world knows it's a glum day just as well as he does. There is no glimmer in cemeteries. It's a dull abode. Some place dreadful no one ever seeks solace to. Somehow he still finds himself wound up here.

The thick stormy clouds above his head are an ode to his darkened mood. It's a frothy contrast. Normally he feels somewhat light whilst paying a visit to his once beloved. She was his elixir and every so often she still fills that gaping hole in his heart when life throws him an absurd amount of curve balls without warning. She'd been the color in his black and white universe. Paying his respects always came with a few tears varying from his unexpected visits. But normally he was never this bent out of shape when it came to seeing her.