A heart six feet deep

By: Caitlyn Ju

Fear, guilt, regret, repeat.

There was not a day I was not haunted by the past, chased by the outstretched talons of vengeful whispers and nightmares. Living was worth nothing to me. Waking up meant another day of suffering, of being tormented by my mistakes and regrets. But yet, I deserved every single bit of it. Nothing would ever ease this pain, nothing could.

Except for her.

I knelt before the worn, rotting headstone, my fingers tenderly brushing the moss and weeds growing in the cracks as I stared unfalteringly at the foot of the grave. This was a daily ritual. I always found myself back at this long-abandoned graveyard, no matter where I was and what I was doing every single day. Ragged stones and debris stabbed painfully at my knees, but I took no notice. Endless wisps of dark fog seeped through the graveyard, clouding everything in sight, shrouding the graves with its murky tapestry. I could feel the damp, bitter taste of mist on my tongue, moisture settling on every inch of my skin.

The skin around my eyes was pink and swollen, a ragged sob escaping my throat. My eyes traced the words carved onto the headstone, over and over again.

"Fly high, Agnes Elmore."

My beautiful, lovely fiançeé died six years ago, wrapped in the cold embrace of a lake.

No one was to blame for the accident, no one was to blame for her passing. But deep down, I knew.

Fear, guilt, regret...

Repeat.

It was all my fault.

I tentatively stretched my hand towards the words, resting my palm on the top of the headstone as my body was wracked with silent tears. The guilt was unbearably strong, unbearably real. Agnes's death was no accident. Her death had been in vain, for nothing.

My finger rubbed circles over a small heart shape I had carved on the headstone with a sharp piece of flint the day of Agnes's funeral, the crevice rough against my skin. This action calmed me, bringing back fleeting memories of a small practice me and Agnes did back when we were, well, together. Whenever we went out for merry strolls and picnics, we tended to carve small hearts using shards of rock on the rough bark of trees, leaving behind a mark to record our presence wherever we went. The heart I had carved on her headstone was a gesture to remember the times we shared even when she wasn't here, an act of finality and acceptance.

But I would never truly accept that she was gone. Never.

The moment my finger made contact with the heart, a sense of familiar warmth filled my heart, my tears slowing to a stop. The murky clouds of fog seemed to thin, the mist dissipating. Faint golden rays of light seemed to beat down softly onto my kneeling figure, stretching and curling through the graveyard as they illuminated the headstones with an ethereal glow. I felt a presence, an otherworldly eidolon in the graveyard. My laboured breathing sped up, eyes growing bloodshot. It was Agnes, I knew it was her. I wasn't insane, I wasn't demented. I wasn't. Everything could go back to normal again, as long as I see her. The moment my eyes land on her beautiful figure, it would all be okay. My love for Agnes was real and true, undying.

A slow, eerie smile spread across my face, stretching from ear to ear.

This must have been a sign from the gods, a message from the dead. With complete certainty, I knew what I had to do.

I would tear up her grave and recover Agnes from the depths of her tomb. I would never be separated from my love, ever again.

Rationale: In Year 8, one of our units is on Gothic writing. We were supposed to write our own piece of Gothic writing for the summative assessment which was an introduction to an original Gothic story of our own, which is why I wrote this piece. I implemented as much gothic elements as I could such as pathetic fallacy, romanticised pasts and a dark atmosphere. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing! :)