Losing a Loved one to War

Short Story

I sit on the bridge, the cool smooth air swiftly blowing past me with a cool breeze, my feet dangling over the edge into the cool water. My chin rests on the rusty iron railing as a white wave of cloud crashed against the blue shore.

I stared the tree across the river, an auburn star - shaped leaf drifts off and lands on the river surface and I watch as the ripples spread. The water is calm today, the calmest we've had all week.

When my sister and I were younger, Dad used to say there was a god of the sea, Poseidon and that he controlled every aspect of the sea. Whenever there were storms, floods or droughts, he said it was because Poseidon was disappointed or angry. I always laughed and argued that there was no such thing. Oh how I wish he was here to tell the story all over again.

I walk slowly over the bridge across the water. The boards creak beneath my feet and the wind blows my raven hair into my eyes. Dad always told me it was just like mum's. It always made my cry when he talked about her. She was dead because of me. She died to bring me to life.

I always wanted to dye it blond but i didn't. Maybe it's because it reminds me of him, I don't know.

I remember during the colder seasons he always used to take me to our he always used to take me to the local park where the trees towered over the kids like the gods of the sky. I always played on the metal slides, but never during the summer. I wish life was still simple.

I hesitate when I reach the grey stone path. A droplet of water slides down my forehead. I look up. The sun. Setting below the scattered navy blue rain clouds that engulfed the entire sky casting a dark, intimidating shadow on the blood-stained flowers that once symbolised purity and life. The path is worn and I can see moss and moss squeezing through the cracks.

I shake the leaves out my hair and pick my way along  the path. poppies rose amongst the thorns,like longing memories that clouded the ghosts of the past. It winds through the trees and shrubs until it hits the biggest tree.

There, in front of the tree is a grave stone. I pick a flower from the ground and lay it in front of the stone as I kneel down. I read the words on the grave stone.
"Thomas G Stephenson 1883 - 1917
A dear husband, father and brother
His absence, a silent grief - his life, a beautiful memory"

THE END