Ditches:

The family cemetery branched out like a tree, which spread out to every section of the graveyard; the main stone pathway reached out towards the rest of the cemetery, connecting to the ditches of the deceased.
A chronological assembly of graves line up, and teddy bears sit up against tombstones of lost innocence; they are moist and damp from the rainfall that splatters across the graves. The wind whistles its tune and trickles the lanyards of the medals, given to the deceased soldiers to commemorate their efforts of war.
Damian watched the storm from his car. He was afraid to step out of the vehicle because he understood what would happen if he did; the sky would drown him to death, so he hesitated for a moment to make sure he was ready. Umbrella in his hand, Damian shoved the door open, slammed it, and then darted towards the entrance, with his key ready to unlock the cold metal gates.
He had began to work the graveyard shift only two weeks ago, and was loving it. Damian had always loved suspenseful places, so what could be more thrilling than a cemetery? As a kid, he remembered pretending to search for ghosts and monsters. He would look under his bed because once he had thought that was where all of the creatures of the night lived, so every night his parents would have to barge into his room to make sure he wasn’t up, haunting the monsters hiding underneath Damian’s bed at night. Damian was a sucker for adventure, and volunteering to work the graveyard shift was the best thing to have happened to him in awhile, he thought.
The door spoke with a squeaky sound as Damian worked his way through. Behind him, the door clanked and locked.
He held the umbrella to protect himself from the bullets of raindrops, but it genuinely didn’t seem to be working because, as he strolled along the main stone pathway, he felt his right leg dampen almost immediately; it was wet like he had rested his foot inside of a puddle. He looked behind him, but here was nothing, and besides, he had only been out in the rain for a few minutes; the storm was one of the worst he had seen in awhile.
Damian stretched his way down, still on the slippery, wet main pathway, as he searched for Salem.
Salem always wore a silent, cold demeanor, and his disposition was a desolate one, Damian thought. He had never seen the man smile, not even once, which he found to be very strange, a man that doesn’t show any sign of happiness. Salem wasn’t the friendly type.
Damian continued forward, his leather boots were decorated with mud, and he could feel the gooiness sticking in his right foot; part of his sock was damp like the back portion of his pants, as he tried to wiggle his toes for comfort.
Beyond in the darkness of the cemetery, Damian could see the tall stick figure of a man, stalking in his direction, shovel in hand. Damian always recognized the man from the smoke of his cigarettes in the distance; he could usually smell the reeking odor of the cigarettes because he hated them so much. The smell ticked him off.
Through his nostrils, Damian had become a secondhand smoker within seconds. There was a paradoxical feeling in his nose, and he could smell a combination of rain and smoke becoming smog, which entered his system. This made Damian feel sick in the stomach, as Salem slowly traveled closer to meet with him. Sealing his nose, Damian fought against his gut, in order to abstain from vomiting. Clenched over, he wiped his mouth with the base of his right forearm, with the umbrella held tight in his left hand. His eyes triggered upward, and there stood the tall, grim man, Salem.
Damian was frantic as he looked up at the pale, ghostly, desolate, blank face. There was no sense of life in his pitch black eyes, and as Damian glared into them, it was like staring into the iris of a dead man walking, who pretended to be alive.
Salem bobbed his head towards the end of the cemetery, and Damian knew what he meant because it was the same nonverbal cue given to him before, night after night. Then, the two began to stroll down the pebbled path as the rain continued to cry. Salem was huffing and puffing on his cigarette, leaving behind him an unwanted trail of smoke, mixing with the precipitation from the rain, which only made Damian feel twice as sick as before.
Something didn’t sit well with what was happening. Damian’s head began throbbing, and the more he walked down the lane, the more pain introduced itself. Someone had been drumming on his mind with knives because everything became unbearable. He dropped the umbrella, his knees scraped against the stone and pebbles underneath him, and from there, Damian was left completely vulnerable to his surroundings. He shook as the cold water chilled his body, and for the moment, he felt like one of the corpses buried in the cemetery. Within seconds, his hands became numb, and as he moved them around, he began to remember. All of the things that happened tonight, had happened before.
Salem turned around, with a grimy grin. He chuckled, and looked down at Damian. “You ready now, Damian?” he asked. “I’ve been taking my sweet old time…”
To Damian’s surprise, Salem could speak. Those were the very first words that he had ever heard him mutter.
The tone of Salem’s voice was otherworldly; the words sounded like a scythe scraping against concrete ground. When he had spoken the words, Damian’s heart held Death’s hand. He remembered everything now.
Salem stealthily strolls towards Damian’s corpse, propping him on top of his bony shoulder blades like a rag doll hanging from a skyscraper.
“I’ve given you about enough time, Damian. Don’t you think so?” he screeched, as he slowly paced down the desolate pathway. He chuckled and huffed and puffed on his cigarette. His disposition was very polite, and his smile was content, revealing a shattered, glassy smile.
Damian is fading; Salem is burying him.
“I’ve waited long enough. Don’t ya see how nice Death really is?” he chuckled. Then he placed Damian’s body into the ditch, and huffed and puffed again, until he could no longer. The spark of the flame had vanished just like the light of Damian’s life. In the ditch, he rested in peace, leaving behind a world he knew had already been over for him. Blackout.