Buried In The Wind Novels & Stories

In the sun, she ran toward me with a steaming serving of pot roast in her hands. On the sports field, she secretly held my hand, her palm sweaty. At the school assembly, she read her apology, but her eyes stayed on me. Late at night, she hugged me from behind and whispered, "Honey, wait a little longer. We're almost there." Enough. I closed my damp eyes. When I opened them again, they were filled with coldness. "I'm not saving her." Those three words stunned everyone. "What did you say?" Marjorie glared at me, her face covered in blood. "What did you say?"

At the first light of dawn, Autumn stood alone at the weathered edge of the ancient cemetery, where time seemed to pause, suspended in the very air she breathed. The wind swirled around her, carrying a distinct quality—neither the biting cold of winter nor the gentleness of summer—but something older and infinitely wiser. It was a tender breeze that cradled the echoes of long-forgotten lives, each gust whispering secrets of those who once walked this hallowed ground.

Before going to bed, I took my diary and wrote down a quote from Lise Kiberwa's poetry collection called "Wind", Completely for no reason at all!: >>Like the wind, I don't want to belong anywhere. Just like the wind, I want to be felt but not seen. Like the wind, I want to both strengthen and extinguish the wildfire. Like the wind, I want to stress some poor old lady gently sweeping her compound by bringing all the dirt she's been removing.

The cemetery attendant was already familiar with Luna's movement. Luna stood at the edge of her mother’s grave, the wind carrying the scent of earth and wildflowers as it brushed against her skin. The day had begun to fade into dusk, and the cemetery had a quiet stillness, broken only by the rustling leaves and the distant chirps of birds. Unfortunately, her chirpiness had been dampened by the atmosphere of the grave yard. It was a stark reminder of the current wreckage that was her life.

* Julliane * At present..... The wind in the cemetery had begun to carry a sharp, biting chill, signaling the coming of colder days. The once golden leaves of a tree now scattered around my feet, crunching under my boots as I stood still, unmoving, in front of my grandpa's tombstone. The sun had dipped low behind the trees, casting long, solemn shadows over the cemetery. I didn't cry anymore, not because I didn't want to, but because I had no tears left.

She rolled down the window and waved at me. Simon then said naturally, "Get in. I'll take you both home." When he saw my eyes fall on the passenger-seat sticker that said "Girlfriend Only," he frowned, somewhat impatiently. "Gem has a bad back. The passenger seat has more room. You can sit in the back this time." Look at that. He remembered every little thing about Gem. He remembered her bad back. He remembered her cramps. But somehow, he could never remember the old injury I had from moving all the heavy furniture.

But everything belonging to me had vanished into thin air, leaving absolutely nothing behind. "Rose?" he called out, even though he knew perfectly well no one would answer. Only a hollow echo rippled through the vacant home. Landon's legs buckled, and he nearly collapsed to the floor. He drove all over the city, searching every single corner. He went beneath the begonia trees where we had first confessed our love. He went to the cafe where we had our first date. He even went to the beach where he had proposed to me. However, no matter how hard he looked, no matter how many people he showed my photo to, not a single soul had seen any sign of me. It was as if, all of a sudden, I had completely

"Shawn, happy New Year! No matter how far you go, you'll always be the closest person to me." It was Archie Crosby, the underprivileged young man I had sponsored for four years. I had brought him out of the remote mountains and got him into Sienna's company. My finger hovered over the reply box. Before I could respond, I received a notification about a new post on social media. I tapped on it without thinking. The video was only five seconds long. Sienna, who was supposed to be stuck at the office for overtime, was standing on the beach. The wind was howling, and the sparkler in her hand lit up her gentle profile.

“Forget about it, Valen.” Turning around, I waved my hand at Rain. “Let’s go home.” I cast one final glance back just as we reached the entrance. Valen hadn’t stood up. He had his head buried tightly in both of his hands, his shoulders heaving with violent, silent sobs. I pulled the heavy door shut, locking the sound entirely outside.

He looks up at the ceiling and asks, “Why, Miles? What drove you to do it?” The drugs are pulling me back down into the dark and my voice sounds like someone else’s when I answer: “Poison prayer got stuck in my mind, like a bad seed caught in a wheel . . . dropped here and took root.” Joe snaps his fingers near my closed eyes. I’m falling through drops of flame. “Miles. You’re not making sense. What made you do it?” “Snow in my bones . . . beast in my blood . . . wind in my heart.”