The King and His Men.

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The priest talked. He said nice, sweet things about my mother even though he never really knew her. The townspeople that had gathered bowed their heads and looked down at the coffin by their feet. It was a nice wooden box. It was sanded and smooth looking and the woo was an ash colour. It was all I could afford. The soft ground was pressed in tight around the bottom; the cold dew glistened on the wood. My mum had looked beautiful when she was placed inside the coffin. She was placed in her favourite green dress that had gold trimmings on the edges and her hair was done in neat curls around her shoulders. Her face was incredibly pale and the rouge on her cheeks seemed wrong.

I looked up and saw everyone. They had looked at me with pity, the same ones who had once before looked at me with hatred. Were they lying to my face today to ease my mother's death—to spare my feelings? Or were they actually sorry that the most important person in my life has left me?

I felt sick.

The groundskeeper, an older man whose teeth were stained yellow from tobacco, leant lazily against his shovel and poked his teeth with a jagged thumbnail. He was waiting—impatiently—to bury my mother. My eyes hurt. They were open and brimmed with tears that dare not fall. I was trying to be the strongest I could be, but it drained me and hurt my chest.

The funeral ended with a hushed amen and everyone left after dropping wilted flowers around the coffin. The priest cupped my shoulder with his smooth hands and left himself. I stayed, watching the silent graveyard and grey storm clouds that rolled in heavy and threatening. The groundskeeper sat on a gravestone, popping round after round of tobacco against his inner cheek.

It felt wrong to think about leaving my mother. She would be lonely...lost in the dirt. What if she woke and nobody heard her screams and the thumps her bruised fists made against the inside of the coffin. I was horrified. I couldn't leave her, even if she was dead. My mother needed me to watch over her, to make sure she would be comfortable in the ground around me. She was really gone...

I wanted to open my mouth and tell the man he could fill up the hole now but I feared my voice would crack. I believed I wouldn't even be able to make a recognisable sound. I just stroked the surface of the perfect wood with my finger and forced a smile on my face. "I love you...I love you so much."

I turned my back, ignoring the horrid spits the old man made and hoping none of it landed on my mother's grave. The edge of the cemetery was obvious. The ground became hard and worn; weeds grew and forced their way through cracks and the feeling of dread left my body. I watched from the sidelines as four men approached and helped lower the rectangular box into the six-foot deep hole and covered her up forever.

~*~

There wasn't much that Caroline could do for me. She cleaned up my mother's room and burned the sheets. All that blood had shocked me worse that her death. I didn't blame Caroline; she did everything she would have done. Sometimes, nothing can be done. I just wished that my mother could have been helped.

Eventually she left with a solemn shake of her head.

My black dress stuck to my skin like a wet blanket. It was extremely uncomfortable and I wanted it off but I made no move to remove the clothing. I just say on the loveseat, dampening the cushions and making me colder. I was hungry but made no attempt to eat, even though I knew there were desserts growing staler in the cellar.

I couldn't even remember what they were for...why should I care?

My mother was dead.

I closed my eyes and fell to the side. I curled into a ball trying to hold myself together. I felt empty and sore. I cried like a river drying up. I cried until there was nothing left.