Here lie the souls of unborn stories.

These words are written upon a single, lonely tombstone, standing alone on a darkened hill. Around it lie ghostly pages, tattered and torn, yet untouchable. Their stories strain against the pages, their ink wriggles, waiting for someone to read it. To gaze upon what has been created, but never finished. Unborn. Unknown.

You approach, and bend down on the wet grass. By some magick, you are able to grasp the sheets and lift them to be read..

Authors note: The Graveyard is a collection of short stories, work i've started but never finished, and likely never will. Still, instead of hoarding them, i intend to show them anway, and maybe let people decide which ones i should continue. These were written over the course of my writing career, and as such, the quality varies.

You have been warned.