Lacy Lace was only fourteen when her parents found her lifeless body laying on the left side of her bed. But it didn’t matter for her, as she grew to love the cemetery she was later buried in. The green grass grew all around her grave, the elms provided a great shadow above her and summer days were spent in bliss observing lost lovers who had misguidedly entered the cemetery. Lacy Lace looked upon them with marvelous delight. Their bodies full of life and breath provoked a strange warm feeling of despair in her. Morgan Moth, her neighbor from the grave next to hers, sat in silence every time an old lady arrived to set flowers on her dead husband’s grave. Morgan Moth was an old lady herself when she passed, but no one ever brought her flowers now that she was dead, just as no one had ever brought her flowers when she was alive. Lacy Lace knew that her neighbor didn’t like to share her life story with anyone, but she had guessed she was a lonely woman from the envious yet wishful way she observed the lovers or the families that often came into the cemetery.
Lacy Lace was only fourteen when her parents found her lifeless body laying on the left side of her bed, but now she was much more. She was a ethereal spirit, a soul without a vessel, a chilly feeling down living people’s backs. Lacy Lace liked to greet their parents in this manner every time they came to visit her. Maybe that was why they had not gone in a very long time. She wondered if they had found bliss somewhere else, just like she had found bliss in a grave. After years of suffering, laying on the left side of her bed, Lacy Lace had found bliss in death.
That day, when the cemetery guard had closed the gates at 5pm, as usual, Lacy Lace spied him through the bushes and spotted him hanging a sign on the entrance: “Breath should be held when passing the cemetery as breathing is disrespectful to the dead”. Her breathless giggles were manifested in the crowing of a crow, who also seemed to find the sign extremely funny. As usual, David Daith locked the gates and returned to his little barrow at the center of the cemetery. He passed the graves of his lifeless friends and greeted each of them. “Good night, Maggie May”, “Sleep tight, Morgan Moth”, “See you tomorrow, Lacy Lace”.
Lacy Lace liked the guard. He was tender in his grave cleaning. He liked to trim the bushes in peculiar forms and one of his favorite pastimes was cutting flowers and bringing them to abandoned, unvisited graves. Lacy Lace had seen him bringing peonies to Morgan Moth’s grave once, and had noticed the gleam of her eyes when she had noticed them after returning from her silent wandering. He never touched her own grave, though.
After silently replying to David Daith’s farewell, Lacy Lace approached the cemetery gates, like she usually did at night. She fitted her invisible head between the bars and sighed, as dawn was her least favorite time of the day. Moments crept upon her like breath had crept away from her the night she passed. She thought of the new sign adorning the gates, and would have liked to write something else: “Watches should be stopped when passing the cemetery as time is trivial to the dead”.