A tombstone to my left. A tombstone to my right.
Darkness, thunder, lightening.
The wind is whistling.
The trees are shaking their arms.
I weep, I cry, moonlight reflects over my wet cheeks.
"Grandpa, is that you?"
No, those are the souls yelling to be freed.
"Uncle Johnny, is that you?
No, that is the man next to me grieving his dead wife.
Tombstones start shaking. Stones start falling.
Clouds fade away, light rises from the sky.
"It's not your time," he says.
I wake up. It was just a vivid dream.