The Dead Girls

What are they saying?  Anything?  No.  They’re whispering.  No.  They’re singing.  No—

—They’re weeping.

Somehow that’s the worst.  That means there’s no hope left in them at all.  No mercy.  No love.

He doesn’t move—can’t move.  Sits there like a statue.  Waits for them to pass, waits for their terrible moans to die down.  The light to gently fade.  He sees them drift into his periphery: twin lights, fallen stars, fallen angels.

He doesn’t venture a look until he’s sure they’re far away.  Then he sees them, about ten yards past, and they remind him of lighthouse beams on the sea, reflecting off distant buoys.  So silent and quiet, so slow now.  When he closes his eyes, it’s like they don’t exist at all.

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Their legend is not particularly nasty.  Terrible, sure, but in the great scheme of haunting legends, relatively tame.  Something to tell around the campfire, a tool for parents to scare good behavior out of their kids.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)