Snowdrops – Creative Writing

When would Reece be coering? I sit on my bed and daydreamed, every(prenominal) the reliable beats we had had together flashing by dint of my take heed, filling me up with the hero I was flying. I came back to earth with a thud. Glancing at the measure plainly made me feel worse one- half past eleven. Reece was unremarkably home by ten. Sighing, still worried, I lay my head cause out(a) on my pillow, just to rest my eyes for a few transactionsAnd awoke with a jolt, to the rhythmic thudding of a heavy yield on the oceanrch door. For a split second, I held the thought that it could be Reece, deal with a wholly reasonable, acceptable alibi, and he would hold me and every subject would be hunky-dory again. That image vanished, when I realised Reece never knocked like that. Frozen with panic, I sat upright. The knocking continued. A sudden burst of courage took me tot every last(predicate)y unawares. Hurriedly, I pul take on my red dressing gown. Dashing garbage down the stairs, I grabbed the keys to the door. Slowly, I advanced. With feline agility, I tip-toed to the door. With a shaky hand, I site the key in the key-hole. Deftly I turned the knob. Willing my suspicions to be err cardinalous, I peeped through the crack I had created between the door and the doorframe.T present, silhouetted against the supernatural moon, stood a great figure, portentously broad and equally tall, the mere come along of whom would worry all that the bravest. I slumped with relief.Hello Gwen. I said, allow out the deep breath I didnt know I was holding.Gwen was the liquidation policeman, a gentle giant to all who knew him, yet certainly one of the most intimidating men to meet in the street. This was down mainly to his incredible width, which prevented anyone walking either side of him on a pavement. lecture to Gwen was like conversing with a ship, he was tough, slow, and found it notoriously hard to mixture direction in a subject.But why was he here?Hel lo, Sarah, he said, not a hint of happiness in his voice.Whats reproach? Why are you here?Gwens face creased up. He was almost in tears. I had never contactn him like this before, and I wasnt sure how to react.Whats wrong, Gwen? Is someone trouble? Tell me, GwenBy now, tears were rolling down Gwens cheeks. I had no idea what was going on I was totally confused.Theres been an accident, Sarah, Reece whispered, his voice hoarse. Reece, he, hes had an accident. He was speeding, he hit a lorry, heHe what? What happened? Is he okay? I screeched, frantic to know the answer. Gwen gulped.He passed extraneous at half past ten. He was speeding on his motorcycle, he hit the back of a lorry. I Im sorry.I froze. He was speeding. Speeding to see me.What? I whispered, No surely, in that respects a mistake. Reece cant be dead, its just no, no, this isnt right, it must be, I, I I stopped. I matt-up my bole numb, as the realisation took hold of me. He was gone, and I couldnt bring him back. Th e emptiness was overwhelming, like a dark fight down had opened inside of me that sucked all my thoughts, memories, emotions into it, leaving me drained. Then it spat it all back out again, and the all-encompassingness was overwhelming. Anger, fear, grief, hate, it all spilled out with the tears that gushed from my eyes.I slumped into Gwens arms, as he took me through my house, the house that had seemed so warm and beat of life only moments before, now cold, dark and foreboding. Down on my settle he sat me, all the time whispering. I demand to be alone. I told Gwen so, rudely, but being polite was the last thing on my mind. He left, and I wept.Alone I sat out the night, unable to face sleeping alone. I was lost, I didnt know what to do or where to go. I knew I had to work tomorrow, there were hardly sufficient teachers at the school as it was, but I couldnt comprehend face a single sensible adult, never mind a classroom full of children who scarcely knew the meaning of sad. By the time the early rays of leakage sun hit my windowpane, I had made up my mind. I had a responsibility to the children, and I knew it was what Reece would prepare wanted. I had to teach the children.At six-spot oclock, as per usual, I arose and got dressed from head to toe in black. The color of death, but also a symbol of authority. There was no sleepiness in my morning schedule, yet I was not fully awake. I got ready lifelessly, listlessly. Breakfast was missed I fasted on and set kill early to avoid the mixed looks from the locals dotted around the village.It didnt work. As I walked through the centre of the village, I could feel the eyes upon my, burning through the headscarf I hid underneath. Quickly and determinedly, I headed up the small dirt get across that lead to the school. The emptiness was still there, lurking threateningly at the back of my mind. consciously pushing it even further back, I braced myself for the day ahead. uncalled-for to say, that day wasnt my proudest as a teacher. As I walked into the classroom half an hour later than normal, the staring eyes of the nave children almost lessen me to tears a second time. A sympathetic look from the childly blonde teacher did nothing to console me, but I stayed wholesome for Reece, and for the children. Taking a deep breath, putting on the nicest, sweetest voice I could muster, I addressed the children.Hello, boys and girls.Hello Miss Webster, they reply, chirpy as always. A lump welled in my throat, I began to sway again, so I grabbed the desk for defend and took another deep breath.Now, today boys and girls, well be drawing pictures of our favourite things for outside. Does everyone have something they like best? Every head nodded.Good. Peter, please give everyone a pencil. Glenys, can you give everyone a piece of paper please. Thank you.As the two young kids set of to perform their duties, swollen with pride at being chose by the teacher to do a job.I sat on the edge on my old chair at the front of the classroom. The room was silent, save for the scribbling of pencils on paper and occasional unintelligible pop off from a child, hard at work. My mind drifted, back to Reece.His face drifted to the mind of my mind, his features already beginning to haze as I used only my memory to imagine him. Just as I got his face into full focus, the emptiness that had been lying in wait at the rear of my mind crept forward, looming behind the smiling face. I tried to push it back, but there was nothing to push. His face melted away, the blankness washed over him like the sea rushing over drawings in the sand. It hit me a second time I was alone.I jolted out of my seat, startled back into reality. I saw the upset look on the face of the little boy, QQQQQ who had come to show me the picture he had drawn. A robin. Fitting, I thought. Robins didnt migrate to the hotness with the other birds when winter came Robins faced the harsh, bleak, cold winter alone. I felt I must d o the same. I knelt down, plucked the picture from his hand and pinned it on the wall. I looked over at the old clock hung high school on the wall, and saw it was break time. I excused the children as agreeably as I could muster, and followed them out to the school playground.I stood for twenty proceedings under the cold spring sun, and called for the children to come back in. Watching over them as they re-entered the school, one of the other teachers, Mrs Jones, a busybody by all means, in her late fifties, scurried towards me.Howre you coping, dearie? she enquired, her caring tone easy to see through. I could do no more than nod.Well the funerals today, at half-past midday. hold only, of course, but they should pass right by on old Luther way.The funeral. It had wholly passed me by, and I felt ashamed for it. Traditional Welsh funeral of course, no egg-producing(prenominal) attendees, but perhaps if I could find a reasonable excuseThe snowdrops.Of course, I had promised the children that I would show them the beautiful spring flowers. If I time it right, the procession would pass right by.Thank you, Mrs Jones, I replied with a nod, as I entered the classroom. It was quarter to twelve. Half an hour. I pulled out the big news report book from the bookshelf, and called around all the children as I sat down with it. Normally, I would put my heart and soul into reading aloud to the children, but today they were completely preoccupied, so my voice was flat and monotonous. The children were disappointed, but I had too much on my mind to attempt to remedy their disillusionment.I glanced up at the clock every five minutes, as the big hand turned slowly around on the wall. My whole body was tense, my throat was dry, my voice rasping. At twelve fifteen, I slammed the book shut, stood up, and led the children briskly through the chill outside air, hand in hand, to the butt end of the school grounds, where the snowdrops grew.As I watched their amazed faces stare in amazement at the little white specks of purity, I could not help but long to be a child again, youthful and kept away from the harsh realties of life. Then I heard the bittersweet funeral chant, deep, dark and hauntingly beautiful, and my hands clutched at the little white gate leading to the road. My eyes muzzy over and I cried, cried for all the good times and the bad times, wept in longing and loneliness, knowing I was destined to live my life incomplete.