Final Resting Place
I step out of the stone. It’s cold. I’m cold.
Is something wrong with me?
It’s so silent. The air is… me.
I remember something. The blood that was always seeping through me at this bent corner. The times. The times I was meat.
I’m flickering into this staircase up to some balcony—why am I here? There’s light, but… it goes through my skin, draining the whiteness through me. I step aside quickly, feeling the leftover sand fall down the ledge.
Water. I think it’s a lovely way to meet death. But surely I don’t need to drown again. Surely I don’t.
My feet carry me to a wooden box. My eyes are wary of the light. My breath feels faint and empty. I think I shall rest here, till I wake again.
This photo essay was created and written by Allara, Allison, and Julianna.
