This story has a very Grotesque structure. It also has many symbolic things and has many hidden meaning. And can be labled as 'surreal.'

I expect to get little to no reviews for this, because well, it is not the normal style of a fiction...but if your reading this now, I appreciate you trying it out.

I recently began working on this story again, and will soon be at an end, though chapters will be edited and replaced.

And so, onward we go.

Fears Within a Dream...

A young girl of eleven, in dull day dress, clutching a bouquet of death flowers in one hand and standing at a black, iron gateway to a cemetery is quite the depressing portrait. Though, there it was displayed, brought alive only by a cold breeze that ruffled the skirt of the dress' hem, swiped at her short, black hair. She stared with a far off gaze into the maze of splintered headstones and grim cenotaphs, which quantities grew as they continued past the slope. She felt so insignificant under the towering statues, standing amongst the strange, reflective shadows they created on the pathway.

An unfamiliar longing passed over her; some invisible force seemed to be pulling at her chest. She felt a strange, intense sentiment. As if something long forgotten laid in with the dead, expecting her. The girl took a shuddering breath, stepping forward absentmindedly toward the gates, hand only inches from the bars. She gripped the cold iron, putting momentum onto the heel of her right foot, readying to pull the gate open. She immediately halted, hearing her mother's stern tone.

"Meg." Her mother called, barely turning to look back at her daughter. Meg merely tilted her head in her mother's direction to acknowledge her, though she did not budge. Someone had said something, someone whom was not her mother. The voice was melodious, soft and awfully sad. Her name, someone was calling to her.
"Marguerite!" Her mother tried again whilst turning round sharply, obviously irritated. "Come along."
"Maman..." Meg trailed off, turning her head to her mother, continuing to look over at the cemetery, now placing her full attention on her mother. "Why do we not visit Papa's any longer?"
"We have not visited the grave for years Marguerite. Why do you ask that now?"
"I do not know...we just have not walked this way in so long. It reminded me..." She said quietly, not sure if her mother had even heard her. Meg knew her mother always avoided this route.

It was not that she really desired to visit her father's gave, she could barely remember him at all now, and the thought gave her no grief any longer. But someone was in there; she had heard a voice."Marguerite, it may rain." Her mother responded emotionlessly.
"May we drop off a flower? Just one? Quickly?" Meg asked hopefully, letting go of the gate and now cradling the bouquet of asphodels carefully in both hands
"No. Stop dallying." Her mother motioned for her to come and turned round, beginning to walk off.
End of discussion.

Meg shuffled forward in a pout then picked up into a slight run to catch up with her mother, a strong breeze bring up the fallen leaves upon the ground. The rustling noise startled Meg and she looked down, watching the leaves whirl round her feet. A small gasp escaped her throat as the leaves began to move; true, leaves blown by the wind clearly move, but the motion of these leaves were almost unnatural. It was as if they were creating some sort of pattern, or participating in a sad waltz. Meg watched in wonderment for a moment, expression turning into confusion as a strange sort of ringing began to echoed in her ears; it felt as if the noise was coming from inside her own mind. Her brow contorted in concentration as she listened to the ringing as it grew in volume. Is was then she realized, with wide eyes, that it was not a ringing of bells, not a ring at all. It was a scream, someone was screaming in fear.

Abruptly, the leaves changed direction and fluttered violently about. Meg yelped loudly, jolting forward and into her mother. She took in a deep breath, stepping quickly in place in a failed attempted to keep her feet off the ground while clinging to her mother. Suddenly, Meg stopped; realizing the leaves had stopped moving long ago. Had she just imagined it? The leaves were so still, as if they had not stirred at all.

"Marguerite! Honestly girl, what in the world are you doing?" Her mother's sharp voice caught Meg's attention and she realized she was clinging.
"Sorry Maman...I thought I saw something." Meg let go of her mother; glancing back at the leaf covered path. A crunching sound brought Meg's attention to the ground below her. She frowned, realizing she had dropped the bouquet and was now stepping on it. "Oh Maman..." Meg mumbled, reaching down to grab the fallen flowers.
"Forget them dear." Her mother's voice said with a sigh, reaching for her hand and pulling Meg forward.

Meg remained quiet, listening to the sound of their footsteps. The sky rumbled above them and Meg looked at her mother, though she seemed to have note noticed. Sighing, Meg turned her attention forward, eyes growing wide and her mouth opening in awe as rain began to fall. Not on them, but up ahead, in a single row. It slowly began to spread, seemly in slow motion, inching toward them as they walked. The sky grew darker around them as the rain passed overhead. Meg looked up, mouth agape. She flinched as she felt the beginning rain patter on her face, which had began to suddenly fall in normal rhythm. Only did she feel the rain, it caused not a sound, the rain was mute.

In wonderment, she looked up at her mother, black hair sticking to her face. Her mother was not responding, did she not feel the rain? Curiously, Meg looked across the street at the few people passing by. They walked on as if it were a summer day. Puzzled, Meg looked up to the sky, licking her bottom lip. In surprise, she flinched, not expecting to taste salt. These were...tears? Meg looked forward; normally girls in her position would be frightened and call to their mothers, but Meg only stared with an expression of utter sorrow. Who could possibly cry all these tears?