No sense

Sweat poured over the malnourished man, clinging to the oversized canvas coveralls, as the bell tolled through the night sky for the twelfth time.

The humid air lent little to ease his ragged breaths. The church cast the graveyard into heavy darkness as the moon sat low behind it.

His skin hung from his bones, the tendons and ligaments pulled tight as he worked. His crazed eyes burned as he sank his shovel back into the ground.

Water splashed against the sea wall a few hundred yards away, and wood creaked as the ships scraped against the dock in the choppy water, but he was too focused to care.

The dirt barely had time to slide from the shovel before he was forcing it back into the packed earth. As his knees sank below the ground, the pile of dirt growing behind him, the woman atop the gravestone frowning. She had kind eyes not yet hollowed by age, a sharp jawline and thin regal lips. Her grey dress shimmering in the moon light, she was as beautiful as the day they had met.

“Don’t fret.” He begged, through heavy breaths. “This has to be done.”

“Would you like some help?” She asked, politely, her voice echoing through the darkness.

“No, my love.” He sighed, “Rest.”

Tears blurred his vision. Dirt crumbled down his back as he threw the load short, too busy watching her. She crossed her hands in her lap, waiting. His tears silently spilled onto the dirt.

 “I have endured for too long. All because of that damned coin.” He said, his voice cracking.

“My parents are dead. My children are dead.” His voice ached, his wrists bloody where the shackles had been chipped away.

“I have been tortured, starved, beaten, all for what? What a curse is it too be alive after so much … too much.”

“Perhaps things could be different.” She mused. “Retrieve the coin, and you can be free from this torture.”

His knees buckled as the wooden casket cracked under the last stroke of the shovel. He ripped at the earth, clearing away the last layer of dirt, his nails aching as sediment packed underneath. His fist banged against the stained wood, once carved by much younger, much sturdier hands. It gave way as his knuckles split.

The woman looked towards the church anxiously as faint shouts carried over the wind. He forced the lid of the casket open, stumbling as it struck his knee. His breath caught as he fell inside. His wrist stung as he landed, but he ignored it.

Her sharp features had sunken in, her thin lips drawn back, her once kind eyes sunken deep into the sockets. Still as beautiful as the day they had met.

“It’s all going to be better.” He gasped, tears clearing the dirt from his cheeks, as he frantically searched within the coffin.

The snarling, snapping jaws of the dogs echoed through the air, as tears blinded him, his hand searching aimlessly. The tiniest spark of hope still clinging to his soul was fading as his fingers finally clasped around the Halfpenny, and he looked up at the tombstone triumphantly.

He frowned at the empty place where she had sat. Surprised, a hand grasped his shoulder. He spun around, noticing how silent the world had become. The air stood still, the ocean froze, even the ringing in his ears had faded away.

A figure stood before him, offering an ethereal smile. Thickly layered cloaks fell around her. Her white hair swaying in the still night air. She held a long curved white staff, of entwined wood in her right hand. Her free hand extended as she stared into the man’s eyes. He couldn’t seem to look away as he placed the Halfpenny in her palm. It melted instantly into her skin, brightening her smile.

“You’ve done well.” She said, as she led him by the hand towards the dock. “Now rest.”

The guards rushed to the graveyard, their chainmale clanking as they struggled to keep up with the bounding hounds. A patrolman had spotted a mound of fresh dirt being dug during their search. As they entered the graveyard, no one seemed so inclined to move with much purpose. The dirt that was being tossed from the earth has stopped, bringing the battalion to an even slower pace. Rows upon rows of tomb stones bore down upon them as they crept closer. The sergeant looked over the edge of the freshly redug grave cautiously.

A man, still in his prison uniform laid within, his arms wrapped around a skeletal woman as though he had just fallen asleep. One had clung tightly to a silver coin.

“Get in there.” The sergeant demanded of the youngest guard.

“Me?” He protested.

Impatient, the sergeant pushed him into the grave.

“Make sure he’s dead.” He commanded.

The boy crept around the edge of the coffin, doing his best to not step on either occupant. He slowly reached a hand out, paranoia invaded every cell as he held a hand to the man's lips, feeling no breath. “Dead.”

The sergeant sighed into the brightly lit night sky.

“No sense digging another grave.”

The boy was yanked from the coffin, collapsing on the grass. Shivering as he tried to steady his breaths, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder.

The coffin was closed with a sharp thud, and the dirt slowly filled in. With only one shovel, the work was tediously slow. Doubled by the fact that no one wanted to get too close to the fresh grave.

Six bell tolls rippled through the group of men as the earth was once again packed down. The battalion gathered their discarded chainmail, quickly making their way towards the road.

The sun was rising over the seawall as the final and youngest guard gathered his uniform. He stood for a long moment, watching the ships scrape against the dock. A sailor was struggling to untie the mooring line from the cleat. As he clenched the Halfpenny in his fist, the guard's crumbled uniform fell to the ground, an overwhelming urge overtaking him.