Empty Fields Of Mass... PART 1

Story begins: In a field, a farm, a barn in northern New England. A family of two set out for a little while. Boots laced up nice and tight, for this dead autumn night, though her face was barely even breathing. They’re going to see a friend in Amarita isle. The hike is a fetch, a 16 mile stretch through a plowed out center of harvest. Hills and mountains haven’t seemed so god damn high. He goes for her hand, she smiles – it’s grand, he pictures her as his angel harpist, playing her songs from the sky.
“Late night, we’re feasting on our own love, lover.”
They arrived at half past dawn, singing ancient Irish song, their approach to his house began to tire. When they opened up the door, he was 3 feet above the floor, he tied his neck to a string of piano wire. She collapsed like a breaking stone, he was left there all alone, he said “in the name of God, your no kind of lover.” She deserted herself like a ghost. He said “in the name of God, he was my brother.”
Packed in, her whole life she ran off screaming. It’s not that she couldn’t be compassionate it’s just that his corpse proved unhealthy for her. He got angry that she left him there so he walked into the sunrise till he reached the ocean, bare and unwanted.