Ara Batur

-This was an ending i wrote awhile ago for a would be epic. If you want the full effect, go to groovesharklite.com and search for Ara Batur by Sigur Ros and listen to it while reading.

Ara Batur

The cemetery was hushed as the grasses dipped in the wind, pushing themselves up against the white tombstones. A bird sang over the lawn as it passed, calling to the solemn visitors beneath. Sarah is walking, hands crossing the small of her back. Her shoes are open toed and she feels that freshly cut grass, aware of the sun setting behind her. Her senses were clear and her eyes were crystal. The path she followed was empty save the men and women under it, but she never felt alone. She quickened her pace as she caught sight of it, and her blue sundress swayed against her body, which was thin in its now obvious outline, a symptom of stress and tire. No one saw her as she ran, arms mobile at her side, moving back and forth as she didn’t bother to hold up the hem of her dress, and she tripped.
She fell to her knees, head down in emotion, and began to weep. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up, her gaze lost in what lay in front of her. White marble, with a fresh engraving that read: “ALBERT WILSON GENIS, AGE 33”. The epitaph was the same as every stone, “MAY YOU REST IN PEACE, IMMORTAL FOREVER FOR YOUR COURAGE AND SERVITUDE.” Standard stone, standard farewell.
No flag sat atop it, no reverence towards a nation worth fighting for, or one worth fighting against. Only a photograph, placed at its base. In it were three men, arms over each others soldiers as they smiled for the camera, clean uniforms signifying the beginning of their service, innocent faces signifying a child’s naive confidence. The same innocence she fell in love with.
“Now see where it has left you,” she whispered eyes wide and glistening.
Then, from behind her back, she withdrew a red rose. She cupped it in her hands, wetting it with her sorrow, thorns stabbing at her palms. Pain seemed irrelevant anymore, but she trembled as she brought the rose to her lips, a flourish of deep red together in harmony, grievance, and acceptance. Finally she pulled the flower from her face and set it down against the tombstone. She stared at it against the fine white background as the sun’s fading light shone upon it. She drew a deep, sad breath and threw herself at the grave, placing a kiss on it and embracing it with all her strength.
Suddenly a gust of wind flew through the field and picked up the rose from beneath her shadow. She looked up into the sky as it danced in the current, wave after wave carrying it up and up, into the blue abyss. By now the sun was nearly behind the hills and painted the stones and the rose a deep orange, its haze vanishing into night. The rose disappeared along with it, and Sarah watched its grace as it soared above the clouds, her blue eyes dauntingly beautiful. And then it was gone.
She stood up, wiped the dirt from her dress and looked out over the horizon for the first time. Her hair flowed across her face and she pulled it away, amazed. The field stretched on for as far as the eye could see, white stones still dignified in the failing light, mourners walking amidst them, paying their respects the only way they could. Most of their heads faced down, unaware of the revelation and finality that gripped Sarah as she gazed over them unblinkingly.
This was life, and these were the people who died to preserve it. For everyone, so that life may go on again.
And again…