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Description
Hello, I hope grammar isn't very bad, I'm still a little tired. -_-
Enjoy.

6. Visit to the cemetery

Bill didn’t know when he had visited the cemetery next to abandoned monastery last time. Only when he saw the white stone walls and the old church from the distance, he realized he had been there while funeral. After that he had never visited this place again. He just wanted one thing: Forget.
He stopped. Only when two monks asked him whether he needed some help, he found back to reality and ran to the entry. After he went through the gate, he slowed his pace and let wander his glance. Countless gravestones lay on the open courtyard, surrounded by a white wall. A few rodents in monk’s cowl went between the graves and gave every grave a short prayer which they passed. The monastery wasn’t been in use for a long time. Only a few monks were living in the old ruin to take care fort he old graves. In near of the entry, an old desert fox with his wife stood in front of a small grave and sprinkled spots of holy water on it.
Further afar from them, a desert mouse with Mexican clothes was in the act to plant a little cactus. It seemed to Bill that he would entered another world, which crushed him inside.
Normally he was someone who yelled at everyone who looked askance at him. But here, his wild temperament left him.
Slowly he continued his movement and take turns to look to the right and to the left side.
Some inscriptions of graves were unreadable. He took off his hat respectfully when he passed two monks who spoke quietly their prayers.
He backed away when a rodent woman sat up like from nowhere who was been bent above a grave. Bill didn’t see her before. Now she sat still kneeing in front of a grave and created the impression that she would nothing other things to the whole day. For whom did she mourn? For her husband, one of her children or relatives? Why did he die? Of old age or bullet?
Bill never gave thought to what happen with the bereaved who mourn for their family or others. Possibly, even for some who he killed.
With silence, he walked on until he arrived the hinder part of the cemetery.
He stopped in front of a gravestone. Absentmindedly, he starred down to the sunken pan in front of the stone. When he had been here the last time, a little bush had planted. Now it was dried. Bill’s eyes wandered on the gravestone. The stone was long and radiused on the top. The engraved letters had hidden partly with sand. With nervous movements of his hand, he swept above it, whereupon the letters were visible.

Wyatt de Cardes
Born 9. October 1971
Died 17. October 1976

There was emptiness in Bill’s head. Emotionless, he starred at the cold lines and wished nothing more that everything was a bad dream.
No, his brother didn’t die! Why it coulnd’t be true? Why?
He had been with him, but he had been unable to help him. He couldn’t save him from death. Why he couldn’t help him?
"Why are you dead?" he whispered quietly. "Why? You can’t be dead."
The whole way to town he had held his hand. Why he couldn’t help him?
"You aren’t dead."
He put his hand on the gravestone. He would wish nothing more than to hold his brother’s hand again, to show him that he had been there ever. But the truth is after his death he let him go forever. Never he visited his grave. He only wanted to forget everything. And with that he forgot his brother.
Meanwhile the woman finished her prayer and looked at Bill, who still stood in front of the grave, his hand on the stone with tears in his eyes.
"He must have had a very close relation to him," she muttered quietly.
Finally she put a flower on the grave of her husband, crossed herself one last time, then she left the cemetery. Bill didn’t get any of that. He ever avoided the situation to think about his brother. Now all memories came back all at once. He had been two days younger than him. Since their birthday they knew each other. They got on together very well, or the most time at least. Their mother had always been glad about their harmonious brothership. Until he became ill and died in town. After that Bill had never made friendship with others. Never he wanted to go through something like this to lose someone who he really loved. Instead he rather fought with others and founded a gang. That was still the best way to avoid emotional pain.
Lost in thoughts, his hand slid form the stone and let rest his eyes on the grave ground. At the time of funeral the grave had been new and fresh. Now it stood there, alone and forgotten. His parents haven’t the chance to take care for the grave anymore. He was the only one, who could still do it. But he never did. On the one hand he wanted to forget, but otherwise he got plangs of consciences that he forgot his own brother.
Bill pressed his eyes together. He hated everything.
Without looking in someone’s eyes, he went back between the graves and left the cemetery.

“Wyatt” wasn’t the first name which I had in my mind. Well, Bill remains me about “Billy the Kid”. His full name is William, so I choose for his brother a name which also begins with “W” and a name of a gun man. I found Wyatt Earp, and that’s the name of Bill’s youngest brother. R.I.P.
“De Cardes” is only Bill’s family name of mine, but I have no knowlege about his real family name, in case he has.

I'll be your huckleberry! — Description
Hello, I hope grammar isn't very bad, I'm still a little tired. -_-
Enjoy.

6. Visit to the cemetery

Bill didn’t know when he had visited the cemetery next to abandoned monastery last time. Only when he saw the white stone walls and the old church from the distance, he realized he had been there while funeral. After that he had never visited this place again. He just wanted one thing: Forget.
He stopped. Only when two monks asked him whether he needed some help, he found back to reality and ran to the entry. After he went through the gate, he slowed his pace and let wander his glance. Countless gravestones lay on the open courtyard, surrounded by a white wall. A few rodents in monk’s cowl went between the graves and gave every grave a short prayer which they passed. The monastery wasn’t been in use for a long time. Only a few monks were living in the old ruin to take care fort he old graves. In near of the entry, an old desert fox with his wife stood in front of a small grave and sprinkled spots of holy water on it.
Further afar from them, a desert mouse with Mexican clothes was in the act to plant a little cactus. It seemed to Bill that he would entered another world, which crushed him inside.
Normally he was someone who yelled at everyone who looked askance at him. But here, his wild temperament left him.
Slowly he continued his movement and take turns to look to the right and to the left side.
Some inscriptions of graves were unreadable. He took off his hat respectfully when he passed two monks who spoke quietly their prayers.
He backed away when a rodent woman sat up like from nowhere who was been bent above a grave. Bill didn’t see her before. Now she sat still kneeing in front of a grave and created the impression that she would nothing other things to the whole day. For whom did she mourn? For her husband, one of her children or relatives? Why did he die? Of old age or bullet?
Bill never gave thought to what happen with the bereaved who mourn for their family or others. Possibly, even for some who he killed.
With silence, he walked on until he arrived the hinder part of the cemetery.
He stopped in front of a gravestone. Absentmindedly, he starred down to the sunken pan in front of the stone. When he had been here the last time, a little bush had planted. Now it was dried. Bill’s eyes wandered on the gravestone. The stone was long and radiused on the top. The engraved letters had hidden partly with sand. With nervous movements of his hand, he swept above it, whereupon the letters were visible.

Wyatt de Cardes
Born 9. October 1971
Died 17. October 1976

There was emptiness in Bill’s head. Emotionless, he starred at the cold lines and wished nothing more that everything was a bad dream.
No, his brother didn’t die! Why it coulnd’t be true? Why?
He had been with him, but he had been unable to help him. He couldn’t save him from death. Why he couldn’t help him?
"Why are you dead?" he whispered quietly. "Why? You can’t be dead."
The whole way to town he had held his hand. Why he couldn’t help him?
"You aren’t dead."
He put his hand on the gravestone. He would wish nothing more than to hold his brother’s hand again, to show him that he had been there ever. But the truth is after his death he let him go forever. Never he visited his grave. He only wanted to forget everything. And with that he forgot his brother.
Meanwhile the woman finished her prayer and looked at Bill, who still stood in front of the grave, his hand on the stone with tears in his eyes.
"He must have had a very close relation to him," she muttered quietly.
Finally she put a flower on the grave of her husband, crossed herself one last time, then she left the cemetery. Bill didn’t get any of that. He ever avoided the situation to think about his brother. Now all memories came back all at once. He had been two days younger than him. Since their birthday they knew each other. They got on together very well, or the most time at least. Their mother had always been glad about their harmonious brothership. Until he became ill and died in town. After that Bill had never made friendship with others. Never he wanted to go through something like this to lose someone who he really loved. Instead he rather fought with others and founded a gang. That was still the best way to avoid emotional pain.
Lost in thoughts, his hand slid form the stone and let rest his eyes on the grave ground. At the time of funeral the grave had been new and fresh. Now it stood there, alone and forgotten. His parents haven’t the chance to take care for the grave anymore. He was the only one, who could still do it. But he never did. On the one hand he wanted to forget, but otherwise he got plangs of consciences that he forgot his own brother.
Bill pressed his eyes together. He hated everything.
Without looking in someone’s eyes, he went back between the graves and left the cemetery.

“Wyatt” wasn’t the first name which I had in my mind. Well, Bill remains me about “Billy the Kid”. His full name is William, so I choose for his brother a name which also begins with “W” and a name of a gun man. I found Wyatt Earp, and that’s the name of Bill’s youngest brother. R.I.P.
“De Cardes” is only Bill’s family name of mine, but I have no knowlege about his real family name, in case he has.