Literary Nonsense 1
London wondered when he'd become so jaded. He stood in front of a headstone, hands clenched into fists, reading the name on it. It'd been so long. So fucking long ago, and yet the memories of that fight with him-- the one who was now lying dead in a coffin-- seemed to come flooding back. It is only after a few moments that London realised that he wasn't alone. To his left, he spotted a shape, a slender, feminine shape. But the wind, howling through the trees, caressing the graves as though they were a child, is the only noise in the otherwise silent graveyard.