So after a weekend of silence I shall toss a tidbit your way. A writing prompt I did for one of my writing groups and it also happens to be a rough scene from my upcoming piece. So here is a snip-it... Small mounds of snow littered the church yard, the dingy, once white, drifts obscuring many of the worn ancient stones. A small crowd of people stood, their black hats and hoods dotting the solemn landscape, in the frigid December rain, encircling the modest granite mausoleum. Cliffton. The name, blackened by the years, engraved into the rocks surface, like a banner. The flickering candlelight within tossing dancing shadow about the somber seen. The preacher held his bible tight in his weathered hands, shivering as each cool breeze slipped in through the open doors. Henry stood next to him, his usually smiling eyes, downcast and taking no note of the assembly which had gathered. He took no notice of the preachers droning words, hearing only the steady drumming of the rain on the mausoleum roof pounding in his ears. Rows of granite slabs lined the chamber, each carved with fading names and dates. Only two of the names had not yet begun to submit to the ravages of time. Side by side they stood, mother and now daughter. Kathrine had been young when she had died, succumbed to illness when Elizabeth had been just a child. Now she was joined in death by her daughter, the only light in Henry’s life, snuffed out far before her time, and with her their unborn babe. “Henry, she is now an angel, watching over you always.” Charlotte’s soft voice broke as she carefully put a gentle hand on his. She managed a weak smile as he looked up into her eyes. “She was the sister I never had, I am so sorry I failed her.” She broke into a new round of quiet sobs and the support that she tried so hard to offer melted, like the snow in the rain just outside. “I failed her. I should have been home with her.” Henry’s hands fell limp at his side and his usually proud shoulders sagged in his fine suit. “I didn’t even have a place to entomb her properly.” “She is laid to rest with her mother, and the rest of her family, as is right and proper. Would you rather have her in the vaults until spring, waiting like some commoner for a proper burial?” Elizabeth’s father as always focused more on the appearance of the matter. His expression the same frozen mask it always was when Henry was near. “No sir, of course you are right.” He wanted to scream that he was her family too, that he had loved her from the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Henry turned and made his way through the mourners and out into the rain, the preacher still droning on as he walked away.
Posted on: Tue, 24 Sep 2013 03:34:00 +0000
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