The rustic gate groans,

With the slightest shove of my hand...

I walk in.

The lifeless leaves make a grinding sound under my feet;

I hear the sudden flurry of wings

- Those of the nocturnal birds…

I can feel prying eyes on me,

Watching my every move,

Trying to find a cause for such disturbance at this hour of night…

The sinister silence enveloping me,

Broken, only by the abrupt whooping of the owls.

Even in this world of shadows,

I can sense the hostility around me
- The hostility of the dead.

I crossed the bridge.

The wrecked wooden boards make a pounding sound under my boots.

In this place of death,

Even the moon cast a crooked smile.

Death was everywhere.

- The air had a damp, suffocating stench,

Created by the reek of the rotting flesh, and the soggy soil.
- The trees were lifeless as well,

With their naked branches; void of any life.

This was the place of grief,

But at the same time,

This was the place where we find peace…eternally…