A stormy black sky surrounds us overhead, 

and thunder fills the foggy landscape with dread.  

Gloomy, grassy, hills surround the quiet plane. 

A single streetlight shines to guide the way. 

A somber grey darkness envelopes the grass field, with solitude and isolation. 

Gravestone after gravestone, cross after cross, a cemetery lies, and they stare in concentration.  

 

“2013-2022, Emmaline Smith” the gravestone reads as Emmie slowly drops to her knees, 

dragging her finger across her name, while her torn shoulder and stomach bleeds. 

All she thinks about is the feeling of her mom’s touch, the feeling of her tender watchful gaze. 

But that was before the day the truck flew down the road in a craze. 

Emmie couldn’t remember what happened next. 

She was too scared to open her eyes. 

Too scared to ask if mom was alright. 

So, she closed her eyes a little tighter, 

until the weight on her chest finally got a little lighter. 

She opened her eyes and woke up here, 

where everything she held dear seemed to disappear. 

She knew right away that her time was up. 

But it didn’t stop her face from burning up. 

Tears fell on her blood-stained shirt, one after another. 

Between deep calm breaths, she struggles to accept,  

“Goodbye Mother”. 

 

There’s another grave that reads “1950-2022, Ibraham Solom” where Ibraham stands over his stone, 

quiet, solemn, and alone. 

He too realizes what had happened, 

and feels regret start to wrap him.  

He thinks about his wife, the love of his life. 

The times he cursed her. 

The times he ignored her. 

The times he did nothing but struggle and shout. 

But he couldn’t remember what a single fight was about. 

He wanted to go back and apologize. 

Start over. 

Love again. 

And truly try this time. 

He stood and looked at his grave, 

before he bellowed in sorrow and rage. 

He knew he wouldn’t get a second chance. 

That second try to reignite the romance.  

The love he spoiled, thwarted, and abused was over. 

He had now lost her forever. 

 

Beside that stone is another that says, “2005-2022, Andrew Stevens”, and young Andrew sits before his stone. 

The cold breeze sifts through his sunken eyes and cheekbones. 

He sits, hugging his pale thin legs close to his empty chest, 

ruffling his paper-thin dress. 

He picks at the edges of that hospital gown that’s been forever lying on his back. 

He’s covered in scars, bruises, and memories of being poked and prodded at,  

by doctors and nurses who promised, “it wouldn’t hurt too bad”. 

He was forced to undergo surgery after surgery,  

because his little broken heart refused to beat.  

He remembers the worry and pain his parents suffered,  

every time he failed to recover.  

The constant tears. 

The constant nightmare. 

The constant despair. 

So, he had to say he was slightly relieved, 

that his sleepless nights had finally ceased.  

Maybe now his skin, as white as snow, would begin to show some color.  

Maybe now his family could spend money on things besides the hospital’s dollars.  

Maybe now the pain that spread through him like an endless black wave would finally get a little smaller. 

So even as the tears rolled down his face, soaking his tired dress, 

he couldn’t help but feel happy he’d finally get to rest. 

 

“2000-2022, Nemi Smith”, The next stone reads. 

Nemi sits with her back to her stone, as the vein in her arm bleeds.  

She’d already taken the needle out of that arm, the one that’s been pricked endless times, 

being filled with potions, poisons, and pick-me-ups of all kinds. 

She remembered the feeling. That pity, that hate, that drowning desperation. 

The anguish and shame she felt, just looking at herself. 

How could she stop when it was the only thing that made her feel sane? 

How could she stop when it was the only thing that made her feel okay?  

There were dried tears on her face, 

as she fought to accept her fate.  

She roared with remorse as her foot smashed the syringe beside her. 

But she still couldn’t help but feel immature, 

because how could she regret her death, when she was her own murderer?  

 

Each stone that filled the maze of death,  

has spirits and ghosts taking they’re final breaths.  

Each has a history, a life they once lived. 

Different memories and dreams they worked to build.  

No matter their origins, rank, or color, 

in the end they were the same and faced this together.  

Emmie, Ibraham, Andrew, and Nemi, 

all different people, all different stories, 

stood by one another as they faced their greatest challenge yet; 

accepting their own deaths.  

 

Emmie felt grief and sadness. 

Ibraham felt regret and remorsefulness.  

Andrew felt the weight of 1000 sleepless night lift off his shoulders. 

Nemi still couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror.  

 

In the end, after all the tears had been shed, 

after all the cries had been pled, 

and after all the cuts and scrapes fully bled, 

they did what they had to do. 

Say to loved ones one last thank you, 

forgive themselves for their mistakes, 

and allow their hearts time to break. 

But now it was time to say goodbye, 

and run into that bittersweet light.   

 

They were all different people, all different stories,  

together yet completely separate.  

Emmie, Ibraham, Andrew and Nemie, 

took each other hands in kind sincerity.  

Hand in hand, they all walked down that dark path, lit by a single streetlight, 

and together, said goodbye to their lives.