Tragedy at Her Worst :Prolouge:

[center]Tragedy at Her Worst
By: Dani Cojo
Prolouge[center]

The figure walked slowly, limping lightly on one leg. It had grown useless over the years. He slightly dragged his leg numbly across the snow covered ground; a trail forming under its dead weight. He leaned against the newest plot’s headstone and looked at the cemetery before him.

“Marvelous…” he whispered to himself, his rough, yet childish voice having a slight hint of melancholy in its tone. He hoisted himself up onto the headstone and looked at the smaller graves near it.

“Alas, death had come too soon. Somehow Tragedy has found her way into these lives again.” He sighed, involuntarily facing toward the older part of the cemetery. He saw the broken headstone at the top of the hill. A large mound of dirt near it, along with two shovels and a broken lantern.

“It’s tragic how many lives were claimed, whether it be by God, a force of nature, or a fatal disease….or a heartless murderer…and yet…a simple mistake can take a life too…like binging, or fasting….even gorging on food or devouring alcohol…yes….that devilish, sweet concoction that has taken the lives of many…whether they are still alive or not.”

The young man leaped down, falling due to his legs buckling under his weight. He never did have good lower body strength. He sat limply on the ground and blinked the snow out of his eyes and wiped away crystals of ice from his hair. He looked around slowly and breathed in the cold, crisp air.

“Mother…Father…have you missed me? Have you grieved at my being away? I know I’ve made mistakes, but are they all forgiven?” He grinned cynically, “For it was you, both of you, who caused your own grief.” He looked up at the sky, the dark snow clouds covering up the full moon. “Yes, it was you! Don’t deny it! It was you, mother, who made me attend silly banquets and prestigious balls. And you too Father, had a roll; for you are the one who helped me acquire my….my exquisite taste for exotic foods and sweet tasting liquor.”

He stood up shakily and leaned on his good leg. “Tell me, were you sad when the family doctor said my liver had become stone; cold, hard, useless? And when the succubus of misfortune, the beautiful mistress of death, the monarch of cruel fate named Tragedy, came to our pitiful lives; her piercing gaze and cold vice grip taking a precious trinket from you? Hah, yes. I’m sure you were. I recall your face as I hovered above you. It was then I felt happy, knowing you actually cared about something other than your money, your possessions, yourself!” He spit at the ground in disgust.

“But what about now? I’m stuck here! You decided to place my body elsewhere, not with the rest of the family. I’m now trapped in this wretched place, where the inelegant reside! And Look! My grave is now dug up, my precious treasures stolen from me!” He screamed.

He kicked at the ground, sending up a cloud of snow. “I was content till now….now…I must find a new place. A new place to reside. A new home…a new burial site…” he sighed sadly, as he walked out of the cemetery, leaving his past behind. His name was Patrick Callahan, and this is his story.

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Authors note: This was a story i started writing a few years ago, but never got around to finishing. I'm not sure if i want to continue writing. Tell me what you think. I need some advice. <3
~Cojo