Graveyard tombstones scattered, growing amidst the sparse undergrowth, each slowly being engulfed by nature's creeping maw. Each holds so much within, echoes of a life lived, deeds done, people loved, passion burnt. Each marking what once was a cage for hate, happiness, fear, the most inspirational and glowing hopes, the deepest depths of despair. Life compacted into a slab of cold stone, a couple of brief words. A date - beginning and ending.
I scrape a bony finger across one engraving - faded and eaten, the toll of time taking even memories and remembrances from mortal grasp. "Here lies..." A gash in the stone - a gash in time. "He will not be..." Liars.
I can't blame them though, these singing mayflies of the autumn sunset. They live, tiny candles burning bright with emotion amidst a sea of darkness. They promise to forever burn, to take care of the light for eternity. Then they flicker and die. There is no eternity, there is just me.
I heft my scythe, and go to reap my harvest.
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