An Evening at the Table

by Hannah Arbeitel

The moonlight pierced the table just enough so that the glasses atop would glisten with an ethereal sheen. The iron fence surrounded the graveyard only a few steps away, almost as though it kept what lurked caged in from the mortal realm. The bodies that rest under the dirt six feet under were so close to the living and yet could not reach them. In torment the spirits rose, groaning all the way, and glided to their feast. Gathered around they began to smile, forced smiles to cheery and wide to be genuine and consciously produced. Laughter tumbled out of their translucent mouths. Glasses chimed and imaginary cuisine was consumed. Reliving their last moments, last thoughts, final whims was all they could do in the face of purgatory. As the moon began to falter and light won with a triumphant ray the apparitions disappeared below once again. But some part of their damned souls knew that the next time one again they would resume their morbid play, would be forced to dance again, the dance of death once more.

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