Gibberish

Here's where that writing part of my blog comes in.

I've been typing and retyping this for a while, it's a bit meant for a monthly contest. They gave you thirteen sentences to tell a story, except you could only use the letters A-M to begin the sentences with. My piece lost, so I'll give it a house here:

"The Ritual"

Autumn came to the town, throwing out its blanket of color and a promise of death. Barely noticed, it stole away the life of the place, drop by drop, infecting the trees with shades of yellow, orange, and red. Colors sprouted here and there, hanging from the trees in banners.

Desires for freedom from its limbo bloomed in the hearts of the people, who prayed for winter and summer, for solidity.

Eager, they knitted or bought sweaters with the colors that their trees now blazed in their final moments of glory.

Forlorn, the people took photos to preserve the trees and their free lawns, to keep memory.

Grieving, they stared from their windows or turned heads to watch the many leaves plummet to carpet the grass with their dead—and yet these people hardly realized their sorrow.

Healing, they took rakes to the dead, swept them into bags, sealed them from the world, and set the plastic coffins on the curb for the morticians to take away by truck.

Ignored, the dead rotted by billions, too much for human minds to count, let alone notice. Jackdaws spun over their wake in formations like wheels; winter crouched outside the wake, ready for his turn to take revenge on autumn. Kettles, all the while, found new life throughout the day to heat and make whole their holders.

Laughter again worked its way from the mouthes of babe and child who forgot the days of the dead.

Momentarily, their tears would work their way out anew, as winter brought alien lands and spring marched in to burn them all away, once more leaving them with the dead.