The Graveyard

The night was still young as I walked back from one of my friends house, the recently watched horrer film playing slowly over and over again in my head. I felt guilty from watching that movie, due to my parents sternly telling me off when I asked them for the hundredth time.

“But mom,” I protested. “All my friends are watching it! I dont understand why your treating me like a baby! I'm old enough to choose my own movies!”

Then, I walked away, oblivious to my parents angry raised voices, and slammed the door. How could I expect my parents how to remember how it was when they were kids? It seemed like they never were. Dad always told me stories about the 'good o'l days', when all the kids were soo responsible. How could they understand?

But now, i wish I had listened to them.

I was in the entrance of the graveyard now, a route I took when I needed to get home faster.

How ironic.

I had no choice but to go through it. Well, I did, but that choice included consequence, which I don't usually take gracefully. I was supposed to be home by nine O'clock, but it was now nearing nine forty. I didnt have time to take the long route around, and I felt strangly compelled forwards through the black iron wrought gate.

The moon shone against the tombstones, making the contrast even greater, and the tombs look even more black and looming.

The wind suddenly picked up and wailed, sounding like a thousand ghosts, and raising goosebumps and hair on my arms.

I tripped. I looked down to see what had caused me to do so. The ground was cracked... a definate result of the dry weather. I knew this, but I almost expected a disembodied hand to shoot out of the cracks opening.

I picked myself up out of the dust, and walked faster towards the exit, not bothering to dust myself off.

Finally, I saw the end of what seemed to be the neverending black gate. I picked up a sudden burst of speed and ran through. I felt safe at last.