color-less cemetery road. I can see, in the distance, the faint yellow lights of the hearse, as it peers

over the rolling humps of the road, and makes it’s way through the thick damp fog. As the car

approaches its headlights stare me down as a lion would stare down its prey. I listen to the sound of

crunching fall leaves as the weighted down hearse tramples over them with its soiled tires. The

blackened windows of the shinny hearse stop in front of me, and the door closest to me is thrust open.

A long, slender leg, covered with a black see-through stocking, steps onto the frost-bitten earth directly

in front of me. A woman of widowed stature now stands before me, amongst the fog, as if to hesitantly

say something to me, but doesn’t. She watches attentively as the four men, who are appropriately

suited in black trousers with brilliantly colored brass button

I, along with the dense crowd of people, begin to turn and make our ways back to the road. I

pale flesh of his face hangs tightly to his definite cheek bones. His eyes are hidden behind the purple

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