Lost #FuchsiaAwards2018[Rewriting]

Epilogue

It was a cold Autumn night.

The moon's pale light reflected on the sixteen figures as they strolled along the dead highway.

The trees swayed from the rushing winds, rustling and crunching of leaves could be clearly heard.

The sixteen beings entered the dark forest. Their pale hands clutched around white roses as black robes covered their entire bodies.

They walked effortlessly into the thick forest. Trees seemed to be making their path to where they wanted to be --somewhere.

Finally they stopped, in front of them were seven graves. Those same seven.

They pulled down their hoods and the their hair was pushed back from the breeze. Grim looks were smeared onto their faces as they walked closer to the graves.

A lad from there stepped from the line in front of a specific grave.

His eyes read the words craved on it.

Vincent Clover
1995 - 2017
Reason of death: Suicide.

The tall lad placed a white rose on the grave in a crack as he grasped his cloak from the rushing wind.

"You did exist." His voice was carried along the wind. A hand was placed on his shoulder as the others went and placed their roses on the other six graves.

The person patted his shoulder.

"They all did Brian, they all did."