Chapter 67 Sixty Seven

• The leaves rustled in the breeze that whistled and howled like ghostly whispers; empty paths, lonely graves, and dim lights gave me the chills. I hated being there up till I watched my father being moved there in a casket. For months after his demise, I only found solace sitting close to his grave and having one-sided conversations with him.
• “Isn’t it ironic?” Alistair started, and I looked back at him. “The living fear the dead’s home when they are aware it’s their last resting place as well.”
• “Death being a reality doesn’t make it any less scary. It comes without a warning and shatters many lives. No one wants to accept that until it happens,” I replied.