The sky glistened a consistent grey, rocking abruptly like blankets to the restless. Since she knew this day would cause such a change, she held close to what binded her to the past.
That day, the lake was imbrued a distant crimson. The children analyzed its feel, too warm to carry their daily meal. Too dark to dream as what was within carried them across. Where the flowers grew, so did their minds... so did the corpses of their family and friends. This wasn't a war, this wasn't disease.... this was change.
The stomachs of the young felt the abandonment of life. The elderly had sprayed thier last stories as they passed slowly as if playing a game: a recognizable pattern of win or lose... and in this case there was no winning. The sky cleared that day, to provoke an honorable hope. Yet honor and resplendence to the living at this age was nothing more of reassurance to the cold.
As days passed the anathema, the survivors would wish upon their solemn trees. No, not of salvation within life and wellness... but of an end to what suffers: themselves. They wished to be sacrifices for that in which grows regardless of crisis. The many flowers on the other side of the lake... Nolde's Garden.
Now apart from memories, apart from what makes beauty, entwining hearts... the garden engulfs these signature images and becomes what beauty is today: Death
Eternal Delerium Community Member 
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