Reality's Escape: a collection of short stories

Tombstone

So, this week I didn't write one for Reedsy. I found an old story in my archives that fit the prompts, but it wasn't long enough... so I guess my Wattpad readers get an exclusive!

     The sun hadn't risen today. Rain dripped from the sky. It always had, and always would. It would continue to run down the hair on the back of her neck and under her collar. It would seep through her undergarments and make the black dress hang from her shoulders like a sheet left out on the wash line. The puddles were above her shoes, but it didn't make a difference. Her stockings were long since soaked.
     A breeze rattled the skeleton branches of the trees and made her look up. She supposed it was cold. It didn't really matter. She could feel it no more than the stones around her. She was as numb as they were, letting the rain soak them but never able to drink it in; always dry and hard on the inside, avoided because of what they meant. The occasional daytime crowds always left. They didn't know how to bear the reality of the darkness, the crushing thoughts that rolled through the graveyard like mist. She could almost hear the whispers, the questions, the longings breathing around her. The wind picked up, beginning to howl. The murmurs rose with it, until they were shrieking at her. For being alive. When they weren't. That she deserved this. That nothing more than isolation and dull horror would rule her mind and heart, for eternity. And that this was her just recompense. One voice screamed louder than all the others. It was hoarse and desperate. It was her own.
     The voices stopped. The night air was sucked from her lungs. There had been a crunch on the gravel walk; the step of a being still alive. She dared not turn around. If whoever it was would just point a cold pistol at her head and pull the trigger, maybe it would be better. Then she could join the realms of the dead and cry out with them for justice. It would be better than to be the victim of their accusations.
     One of her bony shoulders began to melt. There was a strange feeling that began to creep through her veins; reaching her heart, flowing to her toes, and then spreading up her neck to her brain. There was a hand on her shoulder. Then the rain was shielded, and the hand on her shoulder extended to an arm that guided her forwards. She stumbled, and it helped her, hugging her to its body. Warmth. The feeling was warmth.
     The dam cracked. The icy wall she had built so carefully shattered into a thousand pieces, flinging the shards around the inside of her body, releasing the torrent to rush through her. It shook her. She nearly fell again, but was caught, and picked up. It carried her in its arms like she was a child. The waves continued to crash, but the tide began to ebb. The waters ceased wounding and began to cleanse, painfully running over each tender spot and soothing it. A door opened. There was light inside. She was laid gently down on a hearth near a blazing fire. The heat permeated her skin. She began to shiver, and a blanket was placed over her. She was so tired.
     "Rest now, child. You are forgiven."