Skeleton parade
It happened only once a year, for a short 24 hours. The damned come marching in, you might think we'd board our windows, flee town, and ready our arms to keep the city safe. But it's far less dramatic than that you see. For the damned have no ill motives or will, October 1st is merely a day where the lost souls return to their old homes and break bread with the living.
It is a bitter-sweet time to see a skeleton, but with all the memories and feelings of a beloved, especially knowing in 24 hours, they will disappear once again. Of course, though, there are rules; the time restraints are strict. An old urban legend tells a tale of bones crumbling to dust at the 24th hour, never to come back living or dead. The dead may not speak a word of what the afterlife is to the living or be punished by the lord of damnation himself.
This day never meant much to me in the past; as an orphan and a social outcast, I never had anyone to reunite with, no one ever wanted to come back for me. But last year I had met a woman, beautiful doesn't begin to describe her. Silky black hair always tied back in a loose bun with strands falling to frame her heart-shaped face perfectly. Her almond-shaped piercing green eyes could see right through me with one glance.
It feels like only yesterday her frail body was flush against mine, her pale pink lips parted in a broad smile, gazing into and reading my soul as casually as one might say, "How are you doing today?"
She was hired into the pastry shop at the end of my street, always greeting me with the same beautiful, warm smile and the faint smell of cinnamon. I do not even care for sweets, but when I saw her peddling fresh pies in front of the store that day, I immediately became a new regular.
It took hardly any time at all for us to become close; we had different lives. She was raised in a warm, loving household, educated, and had many friends. I honestly could never tell what she saw in me. Yet still, she saw whatever it was, loving me as fiercely as anyone could ever imagine.
After four months of beating around the bush, I finally decided I had nothing left to lose in life and asked her to join me for dinner. The sparkle in her eyes answered me before she did. It was a classic whirlwind romance from that night on; I hardly spent a minute without her. Then three months from our first date, we got down on one knee at the same time.
But unfortunately, life is not a fairy tale, and happiness is fleeting. Tragedy struck my fiancé during work at the pastry shop; the building burned to the ground with the staff trapped inside. Inconsolable couldn't describe me, I holed up in my room and didn't see the sun for weeks. I had no one left; no one in the world had me in their thoughts or hearts anymore.
But now, in less than an hour, the clock will strike midnight, and they come marching in. I don't know if she will be there tonight, the dead are not required to return to the surface. I do not know how I will find her among a sea of skeletons, and I do not know if she has any wish to see me again. But if I do not try, I will never recover from this. I will have to join her myself.
So I tighten my corset, rouge my cheeks, pin-up my hair, and try to steady my breathing. The town square clock rings out once, and I feel my heart stop. Eleven more times, it rings proudly as I jitter my way down the steps and onto the street. I peer around nervously as people join me outside, ready with handkerchiefs and gifts for their loved ones.
Looking up admiring the starry night sky that we used to lay under and talk about our futures together. The full moon filled me with a sense of hope, another chance: something, anything to be able to keep me moving forward in life.
Snapped out of my thoughts as drums begin playing faintly down the main street, trumpets join in as they get closer and closer. Then without warning, the dead are cascading down main street, twirling flags, beating drums, cheering, and waving at everyone. Onlookers thrust themselves into the parade, grabbing at loved ones they somehow recognize. Others let themselves into buildings as they pass by, while the rest continue to march past, onward toward their own happiness.
I had not realized I was worrying my lip between my teeth until I felt a bony hand gently pulling it away. My breath caught in my throat as I turned ever so slowly toward the palm. And there she was, don't ask me how I knew. Even if she had not spotted me first and come over, I would have known. That something inside me was screaming that this tiny skeleton in front of me with the tinier flag in her hands was my love.
I pulled her into my chest as my body wracked itself with sobs. She soothingly rubbed her hands up and down my back while whispering sweet nothings into my ear. I could barely find it in myself to pull away long enough to look into her face, and even though her eyes were long gone, I still felt that familiar prickling feeling of her staring right through me into my soul.
Her small, tinkling, bell-like laugh reached my ears, filling my heart with warmth and happiness. Then she turned around and began dragging me back to our home.
"I see you've doubted my feelings! I'll have to remind you every year now how much I love you, how much you mean to me."
It is a bitter-sweet time to see a skeleton, but with all the memories and feelings of a beloved, especially knowing in 24 hours, they will disappear once again. Of course, though, there are rules; the time restraints are strict. An old urban legend tells a tale of bones crumbling to dust at the 24th hour, never to come back living or dead. The dead may not speak a word of what the afterlife is to the living or be punished by the lord of damnation himself.
This day never meant much to me in the past; as an orphan and a social outcast, I never had anyone to reunite with, no one ever wanted to come back for me. But last year I had met a woman, beautiful doesn't begin to describe her. Silky black hair always tied back in a loose bun with strands falling to frame her heart-shaped face perfectly. Her almond-shaped piercing green eyes could see right through me with one glance.
It feels like only yesterday her frail body was flush against mine, her pale pink lips parted in a broad smile, gazing into and reading my soul as casually as one might say, "How are you doing today?"
She was hired into the pastry shop at the end of my street, always greeting me with the same beautiful, warm smile and the faint smell of cinnamon. I do not even care for sweets, but when I saw her peddling fresh pies in front of the store that day, I immediately became a new regular.
It took hardly any time at all for us to become close; we had different lives. She was raised in a warm, loving household, educated, and had many friends. I honestly could never tell what she saw in me. Yet still, she saw whatever it was, loving me as fiercely as anyone could ever imagine.
After four months of beating around the bush, I finally decided I had nothing left to lose in life and asked her to join me for dinner. The sparkle in her eyes answered me before she did. It was a classic whirlwind romance from that night on; I hardly spent a minute without her. Then three months from our first date, we got down on one knee at the same time.
But unfortunately, life is not a fairy tale, and happiness is fleeting. Tragedy struck my fiancé during work at the pastry shop; the building burned to the ground with the staff trapped inside. Inconsolable couldn't describe me, I holed up in my room and didn't see the sun for weeks. I had no one left; no one in the world had me in their thoughts or hearts anymore.
But now, in less than an hour, the clock will strike midnight, and they come marching in. I don't know if she will be there tonight, the dead are not required to return to the surface. I do not know how I will find her among a sea of skeletons, and I do not know if she has any wish to see me again. But if I do not try, I will never recover from this. I will have to join her myself.
So I tighten my corset, rouge my cheeks, pin-up my hair, and try to steady my breathing. The town square clock rings out once, and I feel my heart stop. Eleven more times, it rings proudly as I jitter my way down the steps and onto the street. I peer around nervously as people join me outside, ready with handkerchiefs and gifts for their loved ones.
Looking up admiring the starry night sky that we used to lay under and talk about our futures together. The full moon filled me with a sense of hope, another chance: something, anything to be able to keep me moving forward in life.
Snapped out of my thoughts as drums begin playing faintly down the main street, trumpets join in as they get closer and closer. Then without warning, the dead are cascading down main street, twirling flags, beating drums, cheering, and waving at everyone. Onlookers thrust themselves into the parade, grabbing at loved ones they somehow recognize. Others let themselves into buildings as they pass by, while the rest continue to march past, onward toward their own happiness.
I had not realized I was worrying my lip between my teeth until I felt a bony hand gently pulling it away. My breath caught in my throat as I turned ever so slowly toward the palm. And there she was, don't ask me how I knew. Even if she had not spotted me first and come over, I would have known. That something inside me was screaming that this tiny skeleton in front of me with the tinier flag in her hands was my love.
I pulled her into my chest as my body wracked itself with sobs. She soothingly rubbed her hands up and down my back while whispering sweet nothings into my ear. I could barely find it in myself to pull away long enough to look into her face, and even though her eyes were long gone, I still felt that familiar prickling feeling of her staring right through me into my soul.
Her small, tinkling, bell-like laugh reached my ears, filling my heart with warmth and happiness. Then she turned around and began dragging me back to our home.
"I see you've doubted my feelings! I'll have to remind you every year now how much I love you, how much you mean to me."
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