Madness & Morrison

This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago - and just found on my computer. I rather like the way it starts out, but I'm not 100% pleased with the ending. I think I can justify this by making it clear that I wrote this at age 13 though, can't I??

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The gates were locked, but I had come this far - why should the gates stop me? I looked up at the gates towering overhead, and the white chalked walls surrounding the cemetery. I felt up the gates, feeling for a place to step up and hoist myself over the top of the gates. I found a place where the iron crossed vertically, and jumped up. The cold iron against my palms sent chills through my body, and I could feel the wind's icy jaw locked around my face. I crawled up best I could, heaving my body up step for step. I reached the top, and ignoring the iciness of the iron top, pulled my body over. I jumped down, feeling the surge of pain going up through my legs as I hit the ground. I looked around, and ran at full speed in the direction I had gone that afternoon. The graveyard looked more eerie than it had earlier, and the small stone houses that had before looked romantic, now looked nothing but the scene of a low budget horror movie. I watched them zoom by as I sprinted across the asphalt path directly to section 6. I didn’t stop before I stood in front of Morrison’s grave, where I leaned against the railing, gasping for air. I mulled on what to do now. I had to get hold of Morrison somehow, morbid as it may be. I feverishly jumped over the railing, and looked at the gravestone, before falling to my knees and scratching in vain at the soil. The frost had hardened the ground, making me scuff my fingernails trying to get beneath it. I looked around. I had to find a way – I couldn’t give up now. I left the grave, and found a small shed. It was locked, but I went around the back and found a window. I hesitated, but smashed it and reached in and felt around, my fingers locking around a small iron key. I pulled it out cautiously, as to not cut my arm on the broken glass, and unlocked the door. I found a shovel, and without replacing the key, ran back to the grave and started to dig. The ground was hard to get through even with a metal spade, but I managed to build up a pile of dirt on the neighbouring grave, revealing more and more of Morrison’s coffin. My heart was beating fast, finally I was going to see him, meet him, feel him. I started laughing. I didn’t care if anyone heard me, this was incredible. I finally got full view of the coffin, and failing to pull it out of the ground, I lifted off the lid as it lay. I rested my eyes on the sight before me, and even if there was no flesh or skin left on the body, and it was nothing but a skeleton, I could recognize Morrison. His bone structure, his cheekbones, his size, everything made me certain that this was my idol. I smiled, and pulled out the fabric tote bag I had folded up in my pocket. I realized not all of Morrison would fit, and I decided to go with the important bit – the skull. This was where all the brilliance had been, all the poetry and the lyrics, they all came from here. I lifted up the skull and turned it over in my hands, amazed by its complexity and yet the simple shapes of his well formed cheekbones. I kissed it, and carefully put it in my bag. I smiled, stood up, stretched and turned around to leave. I was all set to go back to our apartment, cautiously put the bag in my suitcase and go back to sleep, fulfilled as a well fed baby, when I heard a sound behind me. The crack of a twig, the quick intake of breath that follows when you make a sound trying to be silent, the heavy breathing of panic. I twirled around fast, but there was nothing to be seen. I decided it was the wind playing games with me and started towards the exit, but I could feel something behind me. What it was, I did not know, since whatever it may be disappeared whenever I looked. My heart was racing almost as fast as my legs, and I was so scared that I lost track of the path, and ended up in a maze of stone houses with old iron gates and smaller graves with faded, unreadable lettering and neglected soil. I clutched the bag close to my chest and slowed down. I stopped to listen, my eyes darting from grave to grave, tomb to tomb. The stone houses were surrounding me now, empty and dark, obviously uncared for, inviting yet appalling. There was no sound, only the wind in the trees, rattling the brown leaves, dragging them mercilessly to the ground. The only light came from the vague white moon high above, casting a faded glow on the graves, creating a grey and blue atmosphere, spilling across the dark asphalt. I turned around in circles, making sure nobody was there, before walking slowly on, letting my pulse drop to normal and my heartbeat steady. I had no idea where I was in this great big graveyard, but I walked on instinct and I soon ended up at the exit.

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