Exhumed

A fallow season, a time of trivial hungers, but also a term put away within a stone breaking age. It was a Wednesday, a day with sorrow sewn into it like a prison blanket. Nevertheless, a scissoring sunlight sheared his eyes open. Petulant lips pursed with a jejune ire. He had laid himself down dug himself earthward covered himself over with a bone deep hurt. He thought: must I be exhumed by this light? This will be the death of me once more. Even then he was unlocked. Light cut and snapped the tangled hairs of his grey despair, swung him open while a vaporous corpse tumbled out. No longer was the sun a graveyard attendant but a door, and at its entrance a corroded skeleton crumbled into another pit of death by light.