Night had fallen only hours ago, but I figured that was the time to go. No sane person would be out at this hour, so the only people I'd run into would likely be people like me.

The local graveyard was surrounded completely by deep green hedges. They were rather pretty, so I decided against destroying them to get inside. Besides, the gate was easy enough to find.

Sure enough, it was exactly where I remembered it. Faded black paint over the old metal bars that kept unwanted visitors out. For the briefest of moments, I pondered the idea of me being one of those unwanted visitors. Shaking my head to clear away the idea, I knew it was preposterous. Me? Unwanted? I was about to save my sister's life, maybe even others. That is if anyone else had invested in the string and bell.

I shoved my shovel through the gate, then backed up to get a running start. I charged, leaping into the air and catching hold of the cool black metal. I held firm for a moment, then slowly dragged myself upwards. The points at the top could prove to be an obstacle, but I quickly found the easiest way to get past them. That, of course, was simply to not touch them. I placed my hands in the space between two spikes and lifted my body, looking over the gate now and seeing the sea of lush grass and stone tombstones. The next part proved more difficult, as I had to lift my legs. I grunted with the effort, but soon found myself on the other side of the gate, falling onto the grass below.

My shovel was exactly where I'd left it, leaning slightly on the bottom of the gate, waiting for me to snag it. And that's exactly what I did, gripping it between the fingers of my good right hand.

As I searched the graveyard for the most recently buried, a light lit up in the distance.

"Hey!" the voice of an elderly man whispered aggressively, "What in the hell're you doin' here?"

"I'm h're f'r mine own sist'r." I replied, "The lady passed on t'day, but I doubteth the truth of it."

"What're you babblin' about?" the man demanded, "Look son, you really ought not to be here. Th' yard's closed."

I refused to move, eyeing the man up and down, sizing him up. Meanwhile, he started to walk off, but when he noticed that I was not even attempting to leave he stared me down with a frustrated gaze.

"Look, you can visit yer sister tomorrow, alright?" he said, "Here, I'll even open the gate for ya."

He started walking past me, towards the metal gate. His hand reached into his pocket, feeling around until something jangled.

Still, I didn't move.

He seemed to notice and sighed heavily. "Alright," he croaked, "come on. This is a crime, buddy. As much as I'd love to let ya stay, you really ought to go, okay?"

I felt a rough hand on my shoulder and turned my head.

"Come on son, go home," he said.

I pursed my lips and spun around, gripping my shovel in both hands. In one fluid motion, I bashed him over the side of the face with it, sending him stumbling to the ground.

"What in the hell is wrong with you?!" he cried, holding his cheek. He raised his lantern, as if expecting the oil filled container to be able to provide protection.

I swung my shovel again, shattering the lantern and covering him in glass. His face showed that he was probably having a heart attack of some kind, but I couldn't have cared less. My shovel rose into the air before I swung it downwards, pulling the skin of his neck open in a disorderly fashion. I saw the blood only by the light of the burning oil on the grass next to him, but largely ignored it as I went in for another hit.

The man gurgled, then went silent, so I moved on.

"How darest thou tryeth to control me?" I growled at his corpse, "I knoweth what I'm doing, clotpole. Anoth'r deceptive demon, I supposeth, just liketh the valorous doct'r. What hast happened to society, that those gents wouldst tryeth to seduce us liketh this? P'rhaps those gents has't seduc'd themselves, f'rc'd themselves into believing such lies. But f'r what, some s'rt of figure?" I spat into the trickling pool of blood, then turned around to continue my search.

The first pile of fresh dirt I saw I sat next to, using a tombstone as my seat. I stuck my spade into the ground and leaned on it, watching the pile intently. When nothing happened for quite some time, I took some time to observe my surroundings. There was a smooth-looking tree that sprouted from the ground into the air, where its branches seemed to have been wind-whipped, yanked back in one direction. It looked rather ominous, even more so due to the pale moonlight shining from behind. It looked like the cover of a horror novel, not a particularly good one, but I guess I couldn't really judge a book by its cover.

Speaking of books, I remembered one I'd read too long ago. Something about a mirror and a ladder. I recalled it being awfully dark in tone, yet upbeat in terms of its characters. A peculiar combination, I supposed.

"What is life, if't be true tis so fleeting?" I wondered aloud, suddenly feeling profound enough to speak my mind to no one in particular. In fact, I could do that to my heart's content right now, if I so wished. Nobody was around; I was outside, able to freely express myself. So I continued, "What is the purpose, if't be true this w'rldly corse is so temp'rary? Or if't be true people art so incompetent that those gents can't tell the diff'rence between a living and dead sir 'r mistress? Hast we fallen so very much as a society that we can't tell the living from the dead?"

It wasn't as profound as I had initially thought; instead my thoughts appeared to be specific to a situation and filled with ill-meaning. And yet, it was deep. It had meaning, and it addressed the way that I had come to think of society fairly recently.

"What savages, so unable to look past their own noses and seeth the truth in the w'rld. Seeth that th're is m're to life than themselves. Seeth that p'rhaps th're is a bett'r way, 'r that th're art many ways."

What I spoke of now became irrelevant to my current situation, but I didn't care. I had an audience of corpses; there was no limit to what I could say. As a result, I took advantage of that fact and spoke some more.

"People art so like a toad, ugly and venomous, nowadays. Th're is nay m'rality, nay respect, nay integrity, is th're? Wherefore can't we hie up and die already? Wherefore can't God maketh his second coming?

"We des'rve not a second chance, doth we? Nay, we doth not, f'r we hast done nothing to earneth one. And yet, h're I sitteth, allowing the only p'rson who hast ev'r meanteth aught just yond."

My eyes wander across the entire graveyard as I continue to speak. "Is equality lost to us? Shalt I leaveth, abandon mine own senseth and decency? Or stayeth to comf'rt h'r at which hour the lady arises. Oh, mine own lief Pascal, prithee bid me what to do."

I heard no response and sighed. Perhaps I should leave, but perhaps not.

"Th're is nay desire f'r us, is th're?" I wondered, feeling a few tears coming on. Maybe I will cry, but I will cry only for us. Not for me, not for Pascal, for us. For humanity. We lost ourselves to something entirely foreign to their obsolete minds, and that something was insanity.

And then, as if by magic, I heard a sound. I glanced up from my mourning to inquire what was about me. I saw very little in the growing darkness, save for the fire in the distance. Then it came again, a soft, beautiful sound.

A bell chimed.