Mary's Will•Short story

Hola and Hello. Señorida Anastasia here with a story. 

Mary's Will.

Mornings and evenings when I'm returning from school, my eyes search the blue, yellow, white and the green that blesses our world. I do wonder if my eyes naturally erects itself when I move my head to the sky, sun, clouds, the speck of green you see before the sky and beneath it. The route has been the same one in respect to the body but entirely different each time in respect to the soul. 

That inspiring silent invisible spark of stories radiate my soul. I do wonder if people wonder on what unworldy phenomenon my eyes search. I do wonder if people judge me as a daydreaming idiot when I'm among them. 

The familiar route to the school hasn't yet been familiar to my consciousness. Supernatural, romantic, sci-fi, dramatic and horror stories take formation with each step that I advance on the way back. Even the brown muddy rain water that rushed below the step I stood when waiting for a bus, told me that it could give me a poem, a story and even a novel. Some unluckiness! The bus arrived before I could start with the first word. 

When my view happened to have swept the Church, de ja vu spun me. Not the worldly body.... but the soul. I recall the last night. Music was pouring out of me as I sat in the car with my family, returning back home. The streets get dark. I know that we will happen to pass the cementry and then, the church which happens to be the only light. My dad stuffs an old forgotten darkness that were whelving beneath reality. 

I laugh. Bamboozling! It seems that people have claimed to seen a ghost wearing a white saree. Of course I laugh. Ghosts wearing white sarees are the plots of almost all of the Malayalam-Kerala films and series from the beginning of cinema. I manage the words in between my laughs

'People would have probably seen an old priest from the church who would have stepped out to enjoy the cool breeze'

What was that happened to me at that moment I sat inside the car? 

Goosebumps envelope me. I knew that different rhythm with which my heart was beating at that moment. I can't deny that I've felt an unworldy dark energy when I passed that route. The graveyard of the church opened to the road.

My eyes then saw the gables some 10 feet away from the church in clear daylight? Where was it last night? Whelving behind the darkness? 

'Mary!'

I see the motherly figure call out to her daughter from the kitchen. Mary fixes her hairpin and her anklets clashed with each other as she ran out of her room to the kitchen. Mary settles herself on the counter. Another girl who is supposedy older than Mary and is probably her older sister hands over Mary's breakfast. The three women in the house is a jolly triplet of dignant, vibrant, elegant ladies of their society. 

Mary is writing something. She's in a hurry. She's scared? She blows off the candle. She makes her way out of the house. She enters the graveyard. Don't Mary! She stood before the gravestone that had carved the picture of the mother of Jesus, Mary. She digs a pit with the tool she finds behind the church. She burries the box. 

Mary's mother and her sister are crying. The rain is light. There are too many people around them. Through the crowd I see a name engraved. Mary. 

My friend taps on my shoulder. We get off at our stop. The rain pours lightly on us. I pull out my sea-green umbrella and drag my feet through the muddy rain water that trickled down the road. What happened to you Mary? 

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