Grey Day (snippet2)
Written by Alexander Aspinall on Thursday the 24th of June 2010
They'd
only been in place a few moments but the flowers were already wilting, as if
the grave was draining their bloom. They didn't speak of happiness or of
cherished memories: they told a different tale, one of ritual and of
obligation. And it wasn't appropriate.
For an eternity she stares at the dirt, seeing through the rectangle under
which her husband's body was laid to rest. And, as the rain bounces off her
umbrella, splashing onto the sodden ground, she sees herself sliding through
into the space that belongs to her; the place she is destined to rest when she
follows Bill into whatever it is that awaits.
She thinks about how she loves him, how she misses him, and imagines climbing
down into the ground, snuggling back into his strong embrace and never letting
go. But all too soon the moment is lost. A lonely bird cries out in the
distance and nearby voices remind her of life. She wipes the tears from her
eyes, turns slowly back to the waiting car; forced to refocus her attentions on
the here and the now.
Her grandchildren are waiting, calling 'are you alright.' And she says 'yes,'
and tries not to look back as they slide up the side of the plot, through the
large wooden gates, and out on to the road that leads the way home.