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body div#devskin0 hr { }

  Space was abundant and vicious; overall the whole endeavor was for the inbetween. I wish that my hands could reach through the soil and puncture the realm of the dead. I wish that my fingernails were as strong as steel and could tear wood like paper. But mostly I wish that my father wasn't dead.
  I remember a story that my sister made up a long time ago. It had always made me cry, yet I always begged her to tell it. I recall the day she invented it first. Sick of the happy tales of cartoon talking animals and mindless royal couples, she wanted something sad. So she reached into the back of her fiction-feed mind. She pulled out the story of the inbetweens. I sighed in remembrance, my breath forming clouds in the dead winter air. My sister had first told the story on a sunny flowery day. As my sister’s sad tale filled the air, the birds had stopped singing and the bugs had stopped moving. Yes, that alive day had dead as the inbetweens came through the gates of my sister’s mouth.
  Born from sorrow over death, inbetweens lived with the mourning. Sharing the sad fear of death they floated along. However as the sad moved on and the dead were forgotten the inbetweens couldn't go anywhere. The inbetweens remembered. inbetween they lived and breathed and existed in sadness. The sadness humans couldn't live with but the strong inbetweens protected us from. Sometimes they collided with the living again and hit them with the grief they carry forever. Sorrow and tears come like a storm. Only to be banished as everything moves back into order. The living move on. The inbetweens continue to be stuck in one place.
  I wonder just how many inbetweens hover amongst the graves now. Pulling my heavy dark coat close I stand against the heavy dark sky. I walk away from the heavy dark headstone and remember the final words of my sister’s story.
Softly as she’d always say them.

                  “Not that it matters because soon everyone forgets. And soon only the ghosts remain.”

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

  Space was abundant and vicious; overall the whole endeavor was for the inbetween. I wish that my hands could reach through the soil and puncture the realm of the dead. I wish that my fingernails were as strong as steel and could tear wood like paper. But mostly I wish that my father wasn't dead.
  I remember a story that my sister made up a long time ago. It had always made me cry, yet I always begged her to tell it. I recall the day she invented it first. Sick of the happy tales of cartoon talking animals and mindless royal couples, she wanted something sad. So she reached into the back of her fiction-feed mind. She pulled out the story of the inbetweens. I sighed in remembrance, my breath forming clouds in the dead winter air. My sister had first told the story on a sunny flowery day. As my sister’s sad tale filled the air, the birds had stopped singing and the bugs had stopped moving. Yes, that alive day had dead as the inbetweens came through the gates of my sister’s mouth.
  Born from sorrow over death, inbetweens lived with the mourning. Sharing the sad fear of death they floated along. However as the sad moved on and the dead were forgotten the inbetweens couldn't go anywhere. The inbetweens remembered. inbetween they lived and breathed and existed in sadness. The sadness humans couldn't live with but the strong inbetweens protected us from. Sometimes they collided with the living again and hit them with the grief they carry forever. Sorrow and tears come like a storm. Only to be banished as everything moves back into order. The living move on. The inbetweens continue to be stuck in one place.
  I wonder just how many inbetweens hover amongst the graves now. Pulling my heavy dark coat close I stand against the heavy dark sky. I walk away from the heavy dark headstone and remember the final words of my sister’s story.
Softly as she’d always say them.

                  “Not that it matters because soon everyone forgets. And soon only the ghosts remain.”