She walked on the grass, her shoes crushing whatever leaves happened to be under them. In her hands she carried a single rose she just barely held onto. Her hair blew in the icy cold wind, but it didn't matter. She put on just enough layers to keep her warm enough; She was only intending to be there for a short time.

She scanned across the stretches of gray platforms jutting from the grass. Some had some unique designs to them, others embossed with a religious figure or something of that nature. Most were worn down stones due to decades, maybe even centuries, of neglect. But she knew exactly what hers looked like, she just never bothered to memorize the exact location. Eventually she found her stone, her gray slab. She looked on the photo carved into it: A woman, middle aged. Not many more details past that can be carved into a stone after all.

She let go of her rose, dropping it on the grass that laid before the polished, stumpy pillar. She looked into the woman's smile. A relic of a person that, to her, didn't deserve to have her smile remembered. She looked into the eyes of the woman, devoid of color but not of the thoughts that laid under them. Her eyes drifted to her curly hair, drooped over her forehead like bouncy cylinders. Under her carved photo, it read the words "Lakeisha Howard. 1959 - 2004".

She had died a three years ago this day and on that day she never thought she would have to bare witness to this person again. The person, who may have raised her, but abused and manipulated her for years. It was her last revenge: to have her face never escape the mind of the little girl she tormented. It wasn't enough to not only rip her childhood and innocence away forever, and instill the obligation to visit her grave every now and again. She had to keep the memory of her face alive, as long as mortally possible.

Thunder rumbles above her head. Drops of rain fall from the sky and pitter-patter on the maple leafs. "Perfect" she thought to herself. As she turned to walk away, the thunder grew from a rumble to a violent crash and the rain grew with it. She didn't care. For all she knew it was her dead mothers attempt at causing her even more suffering, at least the most she could possibly do from whatever circle of hell she had been damned to. She hated her and vice-versa. But memories are just memories. And she knew that one day, years into the future, her stone would erode just like all the others and her face would be lost forever. The wind blew harder, pushing and pulling the branches of the maple trees back and forth. The rose she left at her mothers grave flies into the distance, juxtaposing with the rain and dark, cloudy sky. Eventually it flies over the trees, never to be seen again. She smiled.