Untitled #269 / On the Day I Saw Evil

On the day I saw evil I rode my bicycle down to the graveyard at the foot of Concord Hills, the very one that I had passed every morning going to school, returning home in the afternoon, sometimes taking note but never sparing a second thought and I walked among the dead, even talked to some of them as the sun fell below the horizon and their spirits rose again to the surface. “Turn back,” said the older ones, “You’ve still got youth on your side. Live your life until God calls you home” But I couldn’t hear them. I only saw the pale and silent ghost of a young lady, my age when she died, her bud of life trampled before it could ever bloom, alone at the top of a hill under a willow tree dressed in a moonlight gown pure as pallid skin. I sprinted up the hill, screaming “Why? Why? Tell me why!” afraid her spirit would quit this plane as quickly as her life had left the earth. Her thin lips formed not a word, but her ashen, unblinking eyes staring straight to the bottom of my soul told me all I needed to know. I left the place and never returned, for there will be time enough for us to get acquainted when we are all sleeping together.