“No, I gave them the invitations I drew. They are coming.”
Annette moves forward and takes Elsie’s hand as she kneels down beside her “Elsie, I don’t think they’re com—”
Elsie sobs.
Annette pulls her into a hug as Elsie cries in her chest. John joins them as they embrace each other, letting their daughter cry in their safety.
I stand aside, fidgeting the gift hidden in my pocket, scared if I breathe, it will break their spell. They will probably forget that I’m here.
Elsie didn’t want to celebrate even after all her parent’s persuasion. I asked her mother if I could walk with Elsie for a bit and she approved.
“Where are we going?”
“We are almost there, hold on.”
I hold her hand as I lead us to the edge of Grimridge, to a place no one bothered to step foot in. The air is more foggy and dense here. The smell of death spirals around our senses.
“Now, you can look”
She opens her eyes and gasps as she reads the molded sign.
The Grimridge Graveyard.
Hundreds of graves scatter in front of us on the dirt ground. Not a single person is close by as I step forward, each gravestone is engraved with a name and death year. The flowers are withered away as mold eats away the stones. Moss grows around them as the veins that once bumped in their bodies.
“Clay, why are we here?” She whispers as if she would wake them up from the dead.
No one escapes their fate.
I turn around, facing her as I hold her cake in my hand. “Come closer.”
She walks towards me as I move further into the graveyard, glancing behind me to find her following me as she looks at each grave in sadness.
I stand in front of a grave and she stops beside me as her gaze follows mine.
Patricia Morgan.
“I heard she was a very well known seamstress, she made all the royal family’s gowns. She never had any kids due to infertility, but she had money to drown herself in. She died of a dangerous disease.”
Ford Haskins.
Another grave reads as she listens to me intensely. “He was a great general in the wars, he was homeless and fought for his country with a loyal heart, he made a loving family until he got amnesia and forgot who he was and killed himself.”
She listened to each story with an open heart and some we discovered written on the gravestone.
She sits on the ground as I face her “To answer your question, I wanted to show you that all these people have met their fate. Each one of them had a great role in their lives and now look at them.” she looks at the graves then back at me “They’re forgotten, no one steps foot here to appreciate their stories or cherish their floating souls around. Does that mean they’re not worth it?”
She shakes her head.
I hold her hand “Exactly, you’re like them. You’re a great person and some people just won’t appreciate your greatness even if they forgot or didn’t even bother. You’re still the same pure soul that I want to celebrate every year.”
She smiles as I hold up her cake. She takes it from me and holds it for the grave. “Hello, Mr. Ford, I’m Elsie, and this is Clay, we really appreciate your services and hope you have a great birthday next year.” She crawls on her knees to the next grave and looks over their birth date then wishes them a happy birthday.
I followed her as we spent hours talking to every dead soul.
At the middle of the graveyard stands tall an angel statue, carved with precision, showcasing the wings details and the body of the angel draped with silk. My eyes spot Elsie sitting underneath it, resting her back on it and the word sparks into my mind.
I stand before her and kneel down “Aren’t you going to make a wish?”
