• Two eyes were looking at the sky. They both belonged to the person who looked through those blue pieces of crystal. The shining started, lighted them up and made them more beautiful than ever.
    It was a cold night. The moon was drawling behind the clouds, stood bright and clear between the thousand twinkling stars. The leaves of the trees whispered wise words that no human had ever heard.
    The girl, who was standing under the trees, had brown hair that fell over her shoulders. Her clothes were wet because of the rain, but she didn’t care. Why would she? There was no one who cared about her and she wasn’t cold or anything. And the wind was warm enough to make her knees stop shaking.
    What her story is, is still unknown. Only she could tell the world about her history, but now it is to late. The wind took her away and the grey stone she stood on said enough. But the numbers on it said even more. With only that, it could be about someone else. Maybe the stone belonged to a completely different person. Maybe even to a boy, who had lived on the other side of the world. But it didn’t.
    The name on the stone made thousand tears drip on the girl’s cheek. It said too much. Not enough. Not a little bit more, but too much.
    It was her name. It belonged to the girl who stood there with closed eyes and touched to ground where she stood on. Her name, only of her and of nobody else. Well… Maybe there was one more person with the same name. But than the numbers wouldn’t fit anymore. It was hers, only hers.
    A sad story. She was too young to go away. Too young to be separated of her family and the ones she loved. But that didn’t stop it. It happened and now it’s done. Nobody could stop it. Nobody can make it undone.
    It was her stone. The stone on her grave. The numbers that were on it, were the years when she was born and died. The name stood on the stone, so people would think of her when they walked over the cemetery and saw the grave.
    The girl was dead. Dead and forgotten. No one gave the plants in the vase some water. Not even once in the week. The ground under the girl’s feet was wet and coffered with weed. There was no place for her on the world and nobody missed her. Not anymore.
    While she looked at her grave one more time, the wind blew her away.
    She was gone. For always lost in the space without time. A place called death.