Anaya: A Dark Voyage [#1 LightBlood Series]

Prologue - Run, Anaya, Run

*

Rows of tombstones stood erect in silence to the left and right, in front and behind, like a sea of the dead. Some had degenerated with the weathering of centuries, some were smooth marble with new black writing and laid with floral tributes. Most though, were overgrown and unkempt, for now, even their mourners had joined them under the clay soil. And up in front of her, a new grave had been dug to await its new occupant.

Gathered around the newly dug grave were people — family members and loved ones. Everyone's heads were down either crying or simply silent. Maybe it was a way for them to show respect for the dead or they were too afraid to look at what was coming. The coffin was pulled from the hearse by four strong men, all wearing suits. The silence dwelled as they walked among the gathered and made their way towards the grave.

The coffin wobbled as they carried it to the front and gently placed it down. The polished wood illuminated in the afternoon sun that streamed through the cemetery trees. It was expertly crafted not to bring comfort to the departed but to soothe the living who wished that their beloved would be buried in style. The coffin built with love to be the final resting place for whoever was dead. A glance at it and you could tell that the deceased had been so adored in their lifetime.

Anaya walked past them trying her best to ignore the height of raw emotions swirling in her mind. She felt for them. It was not easy to see your beloved bound to the ground that will be coloured forever in vibrant tones one day. For someone who has been around so many deaths since her childhood, she knew how they felt. It's unbelievable how things can turn upside down so quickly. You see your beloved every day and they're all of a sudden gone, and when they go, part of you goes with them too.

When in grieving, there is no past or future, just living by the moment. Every day is measured from the moment of waking into a new reality — a reality that your loved one is no more — until your body can do no more until sleep comes to rest your weary mind. Then you wake up again the next day and it is a cycle all over again. A cycle that never ends.

Slowly, the coffin was lowered into the grave as the priest led them in prayer.

"Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord,

and let perpetual light shine upon her.

May the soul of the faithful departed,

through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Amen."

The gathered repeated the "Amen" amidst tears and sobs as the priest made his way to the grave with an aspergillum, a silver ball on a stick, in hand. He sprinkled holy water on the carefully lowered coffin.

He wore a robe that was something like a long-sleeved black dress with black buttons from the neck down to almost the hemline, where the shiny toes of black boots covered red sand could only be seen poking out. But somehow it was still manly, and the black of the robe was clear and clean in comparison to the white of the white-collar. A wide black tasseled sash was tied around his waist, and a gold cross, as big as the spade in the hands of the gravedigger, hung from his neck.