Bells Are Ringing

There's the loving, and then there's losing. They both have the hugest impact on their lives.

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1. Bells Are Ringing

 

At midday the town clock chimed, the swings at the park swung eerily as no children were about. The wind whistled and hit the faces of the people outside the church, wearing their black clothes to resemble their sorrow, and their loss.

 

In a town so small, everybody is expected to turn up to an event of the similar, all the shops are closed and every resident assembles in the town hall, to reminisce of the person who lay on the solid wood.

 

There are those who were close to that who lay, and they sit in the front with watered faces and blank heads, thinking only of that who lay.

 

There may be one person absent, and that would be the person closest to that deceased. They would feel guilt, as it must be their fault. They told them that they must go to the army and then here they were, lying there because a bullet straight to their heart had killed them.

 

And that person would, with their long hair covering their face, wishing of their beloved to be there because there will never be another like them. There will never be someone the same, with the same heart and the same memories and the same feelings because that person is a one of a kind.

 

“He was a great person.” The person donned in black would say, tears running down their face just as most of the other people in the vicinity would be. But that person closest didn’t need to hear those words come from someone else’s mouth as they’d said it to that person so many times before. They’d said it while that person was still alive and had given them that courage that they didn’t have.

 

“He was such a great man.” And she knew that for sure, sitting in their house, wearing the bright pink blouse he’d given her for their first anniversary. She knew that and what the people in that church didn’t know was how much of a good man he was. How good the food was that he used to cook her, putting all the love he could into it despite his lack of talent, he just had a knack for trying.

 

“My son…” His mother said, as if that wasn’t obvious. He wasn’t a bastard, he wasn’t illegitimate and he was definitely hers, so what was she doing there, standing above anyone else saying that she was his mother, he was her son had no point at all, as from the eyes of her ex-husband.

 

She was now a widow! She had no one to care, no one to take her hand and ask her to dance, she had no one to get their trumpet out and play self-composed love songs to her. No, she no longer had those training wheels for her life. She was alone, and with a heavy weight in her stomach that wasn’t entirely her feelings.

 

And he was crying too, although he tried to hide it, the tears had wet the bristles of hair on his chin where he hadn’t shaved that day. It wasn’t supposed to happen, for fathers to die before their sons, and this was certainly not a ‘special occasion.’

 

And with emotion running through his veins, his brother stood up after his mother, managing to contain himself even though his cheeks were already tear-stained.

 

“We played when we were children, and being children, we messed things up and we got people angry, but when he went into the army, I cried for nights. I knew just that this thing was going to happen!” And thus was the most meaningful speech of the day.

 

But that man had left the world for his country, he’d left his pregnant wife to fend for herself, to bring up that child all alone and he’d left that family to wallow over his coffin.

 

And that child would be left to grow up without a proper father. Without that father of his, but at least he could say that his father died proudly, and he was a very brave man.

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