Prompt: (Don't remember, but I seem to remember a field trip to a graveyard and that needing to be the inspiration.)
First there was a sound like thunder.
Then there was rain. Lots of wet drops fell down the black, moon-less sky. There was no light, but the graves were somehow lit with a greenish glow—or maybe they were glowing. There must have been thousands of them, as far as the eye could see.
Nothing else was visible—not even the grass which must have been on the ground in front of them, or the sun which should have been shining, since it was almost noon.
Not even the house was visible—the graves just shone through it.
There was more thunder, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky so that if anyone were there, they would have seen, for half a second, old houses which people must have once lived in, but no one did anymore.
That is, if anyone alive had been there. There were ghosts—white, transparent ghosts. They were not ghosts of people, but ghosts of erasers, erasing every piece of writing they could find. All were erasers but one, and that one was
(The rest of this story has been erased)