Pale hands appear over the edge, veined and sickly looking, grasping at it. Fingers slowly clench at the flailing grass, veins straining over the force. The grass trembled under the weight, crumpled and weak, void of life. Just like it’s killer, cold and dead.
The fingers now fastened on tight, begin to strain, to pull the body beneath it. Striving diligently, desperately, to overcome the hurdle and reach toward peace… safety.
Even the heavens seemed to be against her, spitting out drops of malice. A reign of terror from above. It felt like pinpricks against her skin, sharp and ominous, threatening her path to safety. Her heart dropped, a low, sinking feeling as she realised her new predicament.
The grass absorbed the moisture, bathing in its deadly life force, reinvigorated once more. The living do not welcome the dead, and the once tightly gripped bunch became flexible and slippery. She felt her fingers beginning to slip…
Panic flooded her senses, her every impulse on fire, hands grasping for dear life, hoping, wishing for survival. She felt strength leaving her arms and the fight escape her.
Tired, she stopped struggling, arms going limp, her grip becoming lighter as the feeling of defeat washed over her. In the depths of despair she wondered…
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