(This is a short piece I wrote as an exercise in writing in the second person. I chose to use a link to the image, is to much of a spoiler if you see it at the beginning of the story.) Thick clouds cover the full moon, making it hard to see where you are going. The soft cold breeze rustles through the dry leaves on the ground. Pulling up the collar of your jacket, you curse your luck. Why did your car have to brake down where it did? Shivering, you start to question the wisdom of your decision to take this route. But you know this shortcut will take you home so much faster than the winding road through the fields. And it's not like this is the first time. Oh no, you have come this way so many times you lost count. But it would be easier if Richie was with you now, so much easier. But you should not think about Richie, not now, not here. Oh no, not here, anywhere but here. Just keep moving, like he taught you, keep moving and don't stop. Right, keep moving, keep moving. Passing the gravestones you start to read the epitaphs. Well, you don't really read them off course, you don't have to, you know most of them by heart. There, that big grey one. Yes, rest in peace Marion, please rest in peace. The old lady died of a heart attack. Nobody knows two young boys with pillowcases pulled over their heads jumping out from behind a tree caused the heart attack. Nobody except me and Richie. You stop in front of the grave, whispering softly. "I'm so sorry Marion, we didn't mean to kill you, we really didn't mean to." A little further, on the other side of the path, you stop before a small stone, made of white marble. Poor little kid, you still remember his curly blond hair. Died in a fire. It wasn't your fault, was it? You and Richie made sure you put out the fire before leaving the empty old building. Didn't you? Yes, yes off course we did. Again you whisper to a cold and silent grave. "How many times did we tell you to quit following us around, you stupid little brat. You should have listened, you should have listened." But then you remember the rules, the ones Richie taught you when he took you on this shortcut for the first time. Keep moving and don't stop. You don't want to wake the dead do you? You better keep moving. Yes, yes, keep moving, keep moving... As you walk through the graveyard you point to every stone you pass, whispering each epitaph just before you get close enough to read them. It's a game you and Richie always play, counting how many of them you could get right on a row. But not anymore, not anymore. You count, four, seven, twelve, but then you miss one. Catherine, not Caroline, Catherine. You never could get her name right, not even when she was still alive. You walk on, each step now becoming more difficult than the one before. You know what's coming next don't you? You know the names and the dates even though you have only seen their gravestones once, two years ago. Yes, oh yes I know them, all five of them. Foot by foot, inch by immeasurably long inch you get closer and closer to the place you dread so much. Keep moving, keep moving. The names of the five buried there pop into your mind, no matter how hard you try not to think of them. The twins, oh we loved the twins, keep moving, don't stop. Everybody loved the twins. But aren't you forgetting someone? You know who lies in the other grave, don't you? The one in the middle? Yes, yes I know, keep moving. Reaching the third of the five graves you stop and close your eyes, not wanting to see the words engraved in the stone. But even with your eyes tightly shut you can see the words. Don't wake the dead, keep moving. Richie... Your best friend Richie. With tears streaming down your face you drop to your knees, your hands clawing at the dirt. You know there should have been six graves, not five. You know that, don't you? Yes. And you know what the gravestone should read, don't you? Yes, oh yes. That's right, Jason James Gray, Jay-Jay to his friends. Whose idea was it to drive to the lake that night? Jay-Jay's. And whose idea was it to pack all that liquor? Jay-Jay's. And who drank more than he should have? They all did! Yes, you're right they all did. But who was driving and should not have been drinking at all? Jay-Jay. And who lost control of the car on the way back, because he was drunk? Jay-Jay. And who survived the crash without so much as a scratch? I broke my arm! Yes, you're right, you broke your arm. That would have made a lovely epitaph: Suddenly the temperature drops and you start to shiver. Slowly you open your eyes and stare at the ground right in front of you. Cold white tendrils of mist creep towards your hands, like fingers, reaching out to touch you. For a moment you feel relieved, but only for a very brief moment. Should't have stopped, should have kept moving. You know what you'll see in front of you if you dare to look up. You know who will be there. No, not him, oh no, please not... You know you have to face him, there is nothing you can do to prevent it. Slowly, reluctantly, you raise your head. It doesn't look like Richie? anymore, did you really expect it would after two years? But in your heart you know it is him. Crawling towards you, he stretches his right arm, reaching out, reaching out to touch you. His mouth moves in a soundless whisper and though you cannot here anything, the words ring clear inside your mind, a silent cry.