Lost

As I strolled down to my dead-end forest for one of the last probable times I would enjoy the escape, I stumbled by many horrid sights. Fitting the mood of this glum, grey, Saturday afternoon, I walked along the outskirts of my forest observing the saddening sight of what over the years had gone from beautiful nature to overpopulated, 'evolutionary' pollution. Everything on this day seemed to be too still, for even the few snowflakes that were released from above drifted down far slower than usual. Soon enough, I sought upon the sight of a baby fox, lying dead in the frozen grass, its mother licking the poor creature in mourning, prayers of its' child's return to the world. Once noticing a humans' presence standing upon the scene in silence, the mother ran away in fear.
Staring at this breathtaking nature sighting, I saw myself. Lying lifeless in a coffin during a very proper Christian funeral, I am dressed like a school girl on church Sunday. An image of my father, I am an atheist with strong beliefs, yet I lie trapped in a holy church. My tender family speaks as robots, repeating the priests blessings to my dead soul, unknowingly at the fact that God will have no impact on my sold soul. They stare at a closed casket, hiding the gruesome display of blood I had spilled upon myself as the tainted clock ticked the time aloud during the moments of my last exhales. From the church, my family precedes mechanically to the burial sight. As my coffin is lowered slowly to the hums of the priests' last preaches, my mother takes a step forward, shaky contrarily to that of the mother foxes melancholy steps around her helpless child. She approaches my coffin carrying the first of many roses to be placed on the top of my descending dead body. As she steps backward to leave the sight of her daughter disappearing, a small tear rolls from her unforgiving, guilty eyes and lands silently on the petal of the pure white rose. She waits a bit longer as if knowing what will happen next. The rose transforms almost instantly to a withered crisp, its black, charred petals surrounding its discolored stem.
A rain starts pouring from the skies, as Jesus cried from above trying to heal what has already run too far into the distance. For all that has been lost is never truly lost, but I am one who will never be found.





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