Ch.1. Words Unspoken
Life can be scary and exciting at the same time. There are things we learn from a young age that stick with us for the rest of our lives. We learn to love and respect our parents as well as respect the authority they hold.
The respect that authority they hold is then reflected in society, respect for the policemen and women that protects them from dangerous criminals. Respect the soldiers that protect the country. Respect the politicians that make the country stronger and so forth.
When it comes to life, respecting another person can take on many different forms, similar to love having different forms.
You can respect another person for always doing good, for being great at a sport, doing a good job. There are many forms of respect many do not speak of.
And then, there is love.
Love is another thing that is so extraordinarily complicated that it cannot be fully understood, no matter how many years you study and write you’re knowledge of the subject. There are so many kinds of love that the list is far too long to mention.
The most common ones are; the love from a parent to child, husband to wife, family to family and friend to friend.
Those are the ones that are mostly in focus and that is not necessarily bad, if anything, they’re simply focusing on the most common love that everyone needs now and again. Everyone needs it, even if they say they don’t.
The love between friends can create a bond between them that can never be broken, and if it is broken somehow, then there wasn’t friendship or love, to begin with.
The graveyard was always quiet at this time. Then again, graveyards are usually very quiet and give a lot of people bad vibes. They feel as though someone is staring at them despite being all alone with not another human in sight.
The gravestones aligned together with small gaps in between to make space between people. The stones had different shapes and sizes ranging from hearts to traditional stone and even custom-made.
The paths around the graveyard were covered in small stones that crunched every time someone took a step. The sounds were satisfying to listen to and could calm the mind. Where the graves stood, were patches of grass that was dry from the lack of rain for the last few days.
A woman who had black hair and wore a light grey coat with a pink bow on her chest, darker grey pants and black shoes, ignored everything around her, more focused on finishing what she’d come to do.
This was something she did every day.
In her hand, was a single red rose she had bought at the flower shop.
Her head was hunched down as she allowed a tear to escape her eye and fall to the stone ground that crunched beneath her feet as she walked slowly towards the gravestone she always dreaded to see—the gravestone that served as a reminder of what she had lost.
The sun was slowly disappearing over the horizon, but it would be another few hours before it would disappear completely.
The woman turned left and that’s when she saw it.
There was a gravestone there. For someone who didn’t know the name plastered on the stone, they would dismiss her and continue with their day, forgetting about her existence. But for the woman holding the rose, the name was the most essential thing in the world.
She looked around, making sure not to block the path if anyone was there but didn’t see anyone. Slowly, she lowered herself, using her legs and hand to have an upright position as she looked at the name on the gravestone that made her feel empty inside.
It was like a punishment.
She looked at the name with a small tear near her eye, ready to fall at any second.
VINYL SCRATCH
The name was one that many people had never heard of which wasn’t surprising, but the name on the stone didn’t tell everything. The one who carried the name had once upon a time been known as Dj Pon3.
Vinyl had been a musician, which may have been clear to anyone who saw the gravestone. Above the name, was a musical note, showing that Vinyl Scratch either liked music or worked with it.
The woman with the rose extended her hand and rubbed the petals on the grave as if the former DJ could feel it or smell the scent the rose gave.
On either side of the grave were two unlit candles. The woman placed the rose gently under the name of the grave and pulled out a lighter and lit the two candles, a small fire ignited in them.
The woman looked down and saw that the small frame she had left a few months ago was still there. Not surprisingly, she would have reported it the second it was stolen. She gently rubbed a thumb over and read the words.
I Am Octavia I Am Alone
It was cursive writing written by an elegant hand that had practised this form of writing for many years. It was written in the form of yellowish gold. But the writing wasn’t professionally made, it was made by a musician. A musician that was currently hunched over the grave and ready to cry.
Octavia looked at the grave with dead eyes.
Even after so many years, she still could not get over it. The emotions she felt were very strong and weren’t manageable for many, but the woman continued like a soldier fighting in warfare.
She looked at the candles and then at the neatly placed rose that were a few inches away from the text she had left months ago.
The sun was starting to set over the horizon and Octavia knew she had to go, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay.
“I love you,” She spoke. No response came.