Summer of Death

by practicalspactical

Consider it like this.

A multitude is walking down a broad dirt highway. Maybe it is grass covered. The multitude is young and old, every color, every race, men and women, some walking alone, some with a partner, some with their children, some with their friends. Some are talking, some are singing, some are singing, some are silent.

As they walk, every now and then, one falls down, and the people around them stop for a moment, and stand there. After a moment, horrified and screaming or sad and quiet, those who stopped walk on. No trace of the fallen remains to the visible eye. The grass-covered highway has swallowed him.