The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 4

Along Old South Cemetery the decrepit iron fence let out repetitious moans, always seeming to be on the cusp of collapse. Qulin lumbered towards the main gate, gawking gazes never too far off. He kept his head down, the hood of the cloak safely secured over his face. The awakening town lined up in their cars at the intersection. Horns, screeching brakes and sirens formed an annoying choir. Just beyond the busy intersection, Elizabeth's Hospital teemed with the comings and goings of sick and soon to be dead arriving under the corset of red and white ambulance lights. He had always been quite disturbed by town's decision to erect a hospital so close to the cemetery—did they miss the implication? Was it part of the hospital's marketing package—c'mon down and if we can't save you, at least we can reserve your burial plot before you can say flatline.

Although the hospital's proximity to the cemetery bothered him, both shared a similar desire—bring life back to the dead.

When Qulin had first arrived in Derryton, the land was nothing but acres of dairy farms. Black and white cows feeding endlessly on the lush pasture. Hard working families toiled the fields, caring for cattle and gathering milk to sell. As a newcomer, trying to find his footing in Derryton, he was hired to collect the daily stock of fresh milk and bring it to the center of town in an old wagon whose wheels were held together by the frailest of gears. He playfully named The Rusty Mule. In spite of his impoverished ride, he came to embrace the commute as an opportunity to greet the rest of the town and everyone else who'd risen before the crack of dawn to earn their wages. Eventually he'd reach his final destination, James Jeem's little mart on Main Street. The old industrious Mr. Jeem could sell every last drop of milk before the door swung closed for the day, and before long, Qulin was heading back to the farms to gather more milk. The land had changed quite a bit since that long ago memory—Mr. Jeems dairy mart and the farms were now paved over, replaced by supermarkets and hospitals. He didn't miss any of it. In fact, he was pleased to see that old town gone, dissolved into the past.

Car engines rumbled loudly and traffic swelled into impatient lines at the intersection as he walked. The gate was only a few yards ahead. Normally, discretion demanded he kept his eyes obstinately attached to the ground before him, lest he draw attention to his disfigured face. However, this morning, curiosity—a rare visitor—encouraged a cursory glance at the three neat rows of cars paused at the red-light. He wondered, rather dismally, if any of the wretched drivers were headed to Cowell Drive—the latest neighbors. He cringed, as the slightest recollection of that notion drew bitterness to his mouth. A bitterness that only grew as he peered at each conniving driver. Each absorbed in their own worlds, unaware of their intrusions into his. Some on phones, some adjusting stereos, a few puffing cigarettes, each living within their shallow pathetic worlds oblivious to all but themselves. Mindless invaders waiting for a light to switch green authorizing them to move onto the next portion of their sad, self-important lives. Selfish intruders, all of them, he thought. Did they not know there were other places to live? Why here?

His eyes tracked towards a green Honda Civic pulling up. Inside a pair of young delinquents romped around in the front seats like a pair of madmen to the rhythm of the loud music.

He picked up his pace, glancing cautiously at the Honda. The passenger side window of the Honda screeched as it rolled down. A toned arm slung over and dumped a tray of ashes onto the road, tapping it against the outside of the car door until it was empty.

Qulin shuddered. Ash, the way it fell lifelessly to its final resting place. Piece by piece of what was once a recognizable form, something once held and cherished but was nothing more. The pyre, and the unforgiving flames, consuming Cora, turning her flawless beauty and grace into a singular pile of smoldering flesh and ash. He fell to a knee in a sudden weakness.