Amethyst Tears In A Graveyard

When I saw that girl, I thought she was crying amethyst tears.

But, of course I was wrong.

It was just the strange magic of make-up and glitter and very small mirrors implanted in her skin.

But my mistake was perfectly natural.

She sat alone in an ancient graveyard.

She rose from her seat and knelt by a whitened limestone marker. One that had no name anymore. No date of birth. No date of death.

No longer any mourners.

Just her.

Her in her white dress and violet glittered scarf.

She heard my approach.

She looked up at me.

And I saw vivacious purple sparkles running down her face.

In my mind, I thought and believed that she was crying amethysts.

Small, crushed up amethysts.

I didn’t know what to say. Or even what to do.

So, idiot that I am, I ran away.

I didn’t even say hello to her.

I didn’t say good-bye.

***

I saw him in the graveyard.

I was doing my yearly duty, visiting my creator to inform him of my whereabouts and wherefors.

And he appeared.

I swear he was magic.

He appeared by my side.

He in his denim slacks and clean white t-shirt.

He looked at me.

He did not speak to me.

I could not speak to him. I didn’t know what to say to such a strange young man. I didn’t know who he was. What he wanted from me.

If he wanted anything from me.

Maybe.

Maybe he was just like me.

Maybe he was visiting his creator too.

I wanted to ask him to stay awhile.

I wanted to know who he was and why he was in that graveyard.

A graveyard for cloners and biotech engineers and others who meddled in God’s own business of life and of death.

But he didn’t give me a chance to ask.

He turned away.

He ran away.

***

I’ll go back to that graveyard some day.

Maybe I’ll see her again.

***

I will go back to the graveyard for my yearly duty.

Maybe I’ll see him then.

August Writing Prompts

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