Notes in the graveyard.

The first note had said 'Bury me deep'.

As time passed, my weekly visit to mother's grave was intruded by more notes from the unknown.

They became darker and more intense each time, opening new windows in my mind, new possibilities. I wasn't myself when I thought about them. Something inside me had changed. Like a burning flame was suddenly ignited, or had finally ceased. I wasn't sure.

I had anticipated the moment of finding the new note all morning, and as I got to the grave, my plans suddenly changed. He was there, the hidden writer behind my suffering. I didn't return to school that day

He lay sprawled across the soil, stomach up, staring at the moving clouds, perhaps making shapes of them. It was as though lying on a stranger's grave wasn't unusual. I walked up besides him, and his head turned slowly in my direction.

My mouth opened with words about to escape but he spoke first.

"Got a cigarette?"

And that was all, I merely shook my head. He smiled deeply and I noticed his eyes. They were sad and empty, devoid of any romantic emotion. I sympathised for him. But he just walked away and left me standing alone, questioning my life once again.

No-one understands me.

He was there the following week, although this time sitting with his thin legs crossed. As I entered through the gates, I immediately noticed his glancing eyes, watching me as I came closer. He wore dirty brown corduroy pants with a white tee-shirt covering his scared chest. I didn't speak as I sat besides him, scared of him moving or realising my real self. He turned to me and whispered with a gentle yet husky voice.

"I'm sorry."

I nodded, not entirely sure of what he was referring to, but I appreciated it, and for some reason it actually meant something. As though he was apologising for my mother, for the problems in my life and just for his presence on her grave.

He stood with a complete lack of solidity, dropped a note in my lap and walked behind me into the gathering darkness of the evening. I didn't turn back, but rather stared in suspense at the folded page. I straightened the crunches in my shaking hands, and read his neat writing.

'You sit above bare bone. Don't forget, for one day we too will be beneath the ground with living creatures crawling above our deteriorating bodies.'

The abnormality of the note frightened me but also pulled me deeper into his darker world. I knew he was not like the others. He had a secret.

I waited, telling my self it was for my mother, but really I knew I was waiting in hope of his return. However it didn't come. I finally left, taking with me a handful of her soil.

The following week, at the usual time of meeting him, he wasn't there. I sat down besides my late mother and talked to her. I tried to describe who I really was, but I found it hard. I concluded that I myself didn't even know. Then I told her about what she had missed in my life, although I made the exciting events seem less thrilling. I didn't want her feeling jealous or left out. I continued to talk, but at every sound I was distracted, hoping he would return.

The grass where I sat became flattened and warm, leaving permanent evidence of my visit. However, nothing is permanent. I again, I so easily fill my mind with depressing thoughts, only the process of draining them is never at simple.

I came everyday for my mother, of course, and missed most days of school. Finally, on the accustomed day of meeting, there was a note. No human presence, but enough to keep me satisfied.

Darla. I've been avoiding you for your mother has told me bad news. This I cannot mention, as I'm sure it will scar you as much as it has physically and emotionally scarred me. But I will watch over you, always watching, observing. You are never alone when you have my notes. Remember…