The short-numbered group of harvestmen skitter to the small, yellow corpses outside the hive. They form a tight circle around them. The eldest leans heavily on a few others and murmurs quiet words to the dead.
"May the sun always rise and set. May you fill your stomachs to your heart's content. May your eyes wander over bright, beautiful colors. May your laughter carry over the seas. Rest in peace."
The harvestmen echo the last few words. They then proceed to emit a strange, sorrowful sound: a hushed beeping that fills the silence. A calming melody to accompany the spirits drifting upwards to the heavens.
They have finished.
The group turns as their moonlit tears fall, dusting the grass with dew. The wind carries tales to the harvestmens' ears, so they follow the whispers to the horizon while the moon drifts lazily down to greet them.
YOU ARE READING
Twisted Dreams
PoetryA collection of short stories, poems, and half-written ramblings. ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 dream \ ˈdrēm \ 1 : a series of thoughts, visions, or feelings that happen during sleep ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 night·m...
