Holy Sleeper: A Short Story

Holy Sleeper is located in a small city with vast land and a population of less than a thousand. It’s an often visited cemetery from people who travel hundreds of miles just to visit and the ideal place to be sent to when dead. Rows upon rows of headstones and gravestones which once used to shine under the sun, but soon became dull after years of silence. Some were dated all the way back to the beginning of the twentieth century. Every once in a while came a single person or a group with faces holding frowns or tight muscles and tears which spilled no matter how much they didn’t want it to. No one pried in each other’s business. There were no screaming curses at the sky like in the movies unless it was an old person soon to die themselves every once in a while. The children ran up and down the hill laughing, their parents too tired to scold them due to the heavy guilt burdening their back. There were red rose petals scattered around some or mixed flowers bundled together which were sold on the edges of the freeway about a mile away from the entrance gates. Others were artificial plants showing their life lasting dedication to the person’s sentimental mindset, or how they make up their inability to come back and visit in the future.

It was always quiet, even the birds dared not to fly over the cemetery.

In rare moments some people even came for the scenery and the silence. Others would say that this place was only meant for mourning the loss of others; a final goodbye and a permanent rest for the dearly departed. They would lay on the fake grass which was more like an itchy surface on dirt in an open area away from others and look up at the sky. In the evening time the sky would vary from colors such as blue and purple mixing together like in a watercolor painting and at night it would be pitch black. The stars were only visible if the person really tried to see them rather than mindlessly stare

up.
In the abandoned part of the cemetery which was deeper than anyone intended to go, there was moss covered mausoleums and rocks the size of a small child. It reeked of dog crap inside, some caskets inside were partly opened or cracked presumably by pranks or careless workers. The stench of rotten flesh had been kept in the small space for decades and when opened it would spread out in the atmosphere. Often there would be a low layer of fog just below a person’s knee. From faraway it could be mistaken for the ghosts of soldiers who lost their lives in battle and the wealthy who died unhappily, but rest with the money they worked for their entire lives. It was a muffled parting from the rest of the area, but more than that it was separated from color just like the rest of this perimeter. The wind would howl on the nape of someone’s neck sending chills throughout their body and it would just reach their ear. It felt like an eerie whisper from a nightmare.