Thread: my answer to a test

in class we where asked to write a descriptive peice in the stiyle of "of mice and men"

oh and i alo had the idea that people could post their suggestions of what happens next.

The giant iron-barred gates swing noiselessly, the letters perched among the spikes on top spell out a word that most fear; ‘Cemetery’. Willows stand sentry at the entrance, their long, spindly bark stripped limbs reaching out, as if they would embrace you, and drag you to your death. Inside, towering oaks replace willows, they loom forever present, gravestones stand in rows, like a legion of soldiers, the weathered words giving glimpses of a previous life, names with no meaning: John, Sally, Mary, Tom, all forgotten in the feared graveyard.
In the centre of the cemetery stands a mausoleum. It is a temple in itself, stone statues of faceless warriors stand outside, their hands on the hilts of their giant weapons, behind them pillars reach up to the roof. In the isosceles triangle that is the front of the roof, a war rages as granite men clash upon their granite horses, above them sits a murder or crows cawing to the cloud covered night sky. As the moon shines, peering from between the clouds, a flurry of black feathers soared into the darkness. An oak door three meters tall and one meter wide heralds the entrance to the building, a yellow-orange light shines from beneath, and the heavy breathing of the watchman can be heard echoing onward. The light flickers. A scream. Silence.
The door opens, its huge mass screeching on its hinges and from behind it a small girl emerges, blood smeared over her sheet white face, mainly around the lips and down her chin. She is wearing a blood spattered white death-dress, her broken left arm hangs limp at her side, swaying in the breeze, her other arm however drags the carcass of the warden behind, half his throat torn out by hungry wolf-like teeth. She can be no more than fourteen, her perky little breasts, and her skinny waist shown off by her dress that reaches down and drags in the mud. She dumps the body in a ditch behind the mausoleum. She almost glides to the gates brushing the thick mist away in great curls. At the gates a six-foot-nine man stands in a blood red cloak. He was a mountain in the night, his eyes burning yellow in the dark; he smiles at the sight of the girl, showing his razor sharp teeth. They hold hands and into the darkness walk, towards the gothic castle on the lonely mountain.

That’s was fourteen years ago, I am still that fourteen year old girl. He, on the other hand, was killed by a group of specialist hunters, and after ten years they still stalk my shadow.