Resurrection

In a swift fluid motion, watered down azure intermingles with the sweet, melodious tones of salmon pink and sultry violet above a horizon of rising ultramarine peaks, connected by the soft glow of an orange sun. The dark earth, already wet with the tears of some weeping entity, laps at my feet like the hungry dog that it is. Every step I take I sink deeper into the mud, shifting with each feet the weight of a frail body bearing the weight of a stone-cold one. 

Intertwined in my arms is a shamble of rags, bundled so closely and protectively as if to conceal what is underneath it. Cradled against my body, wrapped beneath the sea of white, is my brother, his being already so soft and gentle with death; his hands still wrapped around the long gone apple that failed to satiate his hunger. Even through the rags I see his blank grey eyes still staring beneath closed eyelids, seeing nothing but the abyss of an extinguished life. 

As I tread on to look for tender earth to strike, the nearby trees rustle with a hushed excitement, holding their breaths in waiting for something that will never come. The murmur of the songbirds sire a morose requiem for my bloodless flesh. I kneel before a silky patch of earth. But even with the illusion of a luxurious burial ground for my brother, I know it is a pretense of craving earth. Wielding a small shovel, I raise my hands in the air, and with a cry bereft of air, I baptize the soil with the steel of my weapon and the grief of my heart.

I lay my brother's body into the shallow grave. He is gone, I tell myself, yet with trepidation I envision my brother calling out to me from his bed of brown, moaning and reaching out for me to be his company inside the cold grave. But I climb out, and without looking down, shovel dirt, the first handful of soil kisses his corpse. He does not protest, and soon after the earth finally consumes him in its ravaging hunger. I whisper goodbye. With a merciful prayer, I leave quickly. I do not look back.

I arrive at the foot of the hill and look up to the sky. The risen sun scintillates affectionately on the ashen hill, ornate with gloomy trees and lamenting birds, on my brother's new home, deep within the belly of the omnipotent mother. I will have to move on from my melancholy and loneliness, but there is the sweet blooming of hope inside my heart as I remember where I buried his body: facing the east, where the great sun rises. Soon, I hope he too, will rise in glory.