Graves

The buildings stood empty, monoliths etched by lichen and rust, each one a decaying monument to a forsaken past.

Dr. Niemann and his team surveyed the remains from the safety of their hazmat suits. Acquiring the grant money for their investigation of Old New York had taken more than a year. No one wanted to know what had happened. Perhaps out of fear it might happen again.

The surveyors delayed entering as long as possible. But the initial measurements and data tracking were complete and the time had come to learn why ten million people had all died at once.

Prairie Phantom

Sand rolls steadily along the prairie with a wild wind. The fox finds his home between the sagebrush and through the sunflowers. He leaps airily at ease with his snout grinning. Atop the hill, he shimmies about and slides down while birds depart. Below he creeps to the cemetery and waits for night to lay a veil. A gentle chill glides along as starlight washes over weary stone. With a swift bark and a bound, he weaves among the graves. Moonlight tickles his whiskers and mist wanders in. Here the fox dances with ghosts who once called his prairie home.

From Guest Contributor Kristi Kerico

Kristi is a psychology major at Pikes Peak Community College. She is studying to become a horticultural therapist. She currently works at a bookstore and volunteers at a zoo and nature center. She began writing after enrolling in a creative writing course at PPCC. She enjoys poetry the most, considering it's brief yet complex beauty. She also loves writing with a focus on nature.