It was the time to shovel a plot within the ground, the dirt in the graveyard of the church's cemetery. The tombstones lay half barren, sticking out like misshapen trees. Here, the person digging the plot was almost dead himself, bestowing his self among the inanimate, natural world.
An unmoving body that lay across an open coffin, had an arm splayed over the side, and reaching for the grave; the digger splashed some dirt around the body, raining some over the top. But the thunder started, and rain now started to fall, washing the corpse and the digger. The plot would soon to melt with the surrounding dirt and mud.
Mr. Hadman started to get angry with the revolving rainwater falling into the plot by the storm. The hands and arms of the man were weak, and the shovel slippery. A quick attack of the shovel, and slip of the boot crept Hadman over the side of the hole, pushing him to look face-to-face at the arm of the corpse; it lay there still and cold: but he felt a give within the dirt at the edge of the top of the plot; and the coffin began to move, and started sliding. Hadman began to push forward, but soon gave himself time to set foot into the plot, soon to starting grappling the other side of the hole's edge; the coffin came sliding into the plot within the heavy bellow of the storm wind-rain deluge. And it landed misshapen like a tree, sticking out upward.
It gave him the shivers. Now there was a personification of the wind; something that manifested itself in the objects near him. He sprinted out, leveraging his feet into the muddy dirt; the coffin stay stuck in the plot. After getting out, he looked back; and in a mad turn of events, the body started to crawl out of the summit of the coffin: it was time to release the adrenaline. He had already started to sprint across the volley of tombstones, almost tripping above a few of them. It was by the moment that he crossed to the other edge of town, that he noticed that the lack of energy abated him. He looked behind him, this time witnessing nothing.
Mr. Hadman woke up in his bed that morning, eventual to making his breakfast toast for the morning. In another day, he remembers of his status being unemployed, but seemingly willful and hopeful of the next eventual morning. It was time to learn how to live outside of his godforsaken motel room; and with that, he lifted the blinds of his sixties' style motel room. Living in the middle of a dry spell, in the desert of Arizona, inside a small bastion and civilized oasis of concrete, he kept to himself and fell back unto his bed. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered how he got here, and wondered what lay in store for him- the gas store that was across the simmering road between.
The small bell tripped as the glass door swung. Only a couple people were there, awaiting in a line or looking at any sort of items. It seemed like the day was strangely coherent; there were some things on his mind, but those thoughts were lost in an incredibly mild maelstrom inside the back of the head.
The bells whirled with a sound again; and the sound of the howling wind came through the afternoon of the sun-setting horizon. Hadfield kept walking, now thinking of the amount of hours he lost in the day, sleeping them away. Now, as the sun set, he was ready to accomplish anything that the sun couldn't do.
The time to get to the crime scene was up yonder, across nameless streets that would appear under the taxi as pools of dark.
Yellow tape stood above the ground as Hadfield took a step out of the taxi, unto the asphalt. There was only one police car that sat there, it's lights still relieving the evening air. The officer lit up a smoke.
Approaching the police man, he was delighted to see his smiling face; on que, he looked at the crime scene that lay there between the tape.
Lifting the tape over his shoulder, Hadfield walks toward the crime scene. Hadfield had dressed himself in a sterile suit for forensic work.
Crouched on the pavement, Hadfield spent hours collecting the potential samples for identification of the bodies. In plastic capsules were miniscule portions of saliva, as well as semen. Hadfield walked out, pushing the tape above him to get past.
"So you're not from this city, huh?", the police officer said, toking and letting loose a trail of ash in the night air. He knew enough; he knew that Hadfield was a new recruit for the forensics department for the local police of this city.
"It's also my first time working the night shift", he rebutted in a serene sarcasm.