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Loss, learning and everything in the middle

Chaotic Pink

Let the zephyr blow.
Loss, learning and everything in the middle​

The Chapters
Chapter One: Let me explain,
Chapter Two (coming soon): Dear diary.


Chapter One: Let me explain...

Now, let me explain, how it all began for him, his loss, his learning and everything that comes between in the middle. It won't be a nice ride either.

A man, mid-thirties, stood with his back to everyone else. His grey suit was stained with tears down the front and his hair was messy, far too messy for a funeral. He hung his head low, so that his neck had arched in a painful bend. Out of his eyes streamed waterfalls, in his head an orchestra sounded and in his heart, well, his heart felt as if it had been taken out, stamped upon and chucked back in, but in the wrong place.

Everyone else stood by the open grave, staring out into space, others staring into the 6ft hole. No one spoke. The only sounds were the sobs of the 30 something man. No one said anything to comfort him, they didn't need to, they just let him be.

The oak coffin was lowered into the ground, slowly at first, then picking up speed. The vicar started his serman as the coffin lay flat onto the ground.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

He held a box, full of soil out to the man. He didn't take it, instead he shook his head and walked away. Hurriedly the vicar sprinkled some soil over the coffin and left the rest. No words were exchanged as he formed the sign of a cross over himself and departed.

The man who had walked off earlier stopped at the edge of the church yard. He turned and shouted "Goodbye, forever." He left he grounds and walked away down into the streets.

The day was too nice for a funeral. It was bright, very bright, the sun shone high in the sky and as far as the eye could see where were no clouds, only blue skies lasting forever.

*

He whispered it under his breath, "Goodbye." Until the word annoyed his so much he screamed.

"I hate her! I wish I'd have never met her!" He was left panting for breath at his sudden outburst. People on the other side of the highstreet stared back at him, then noticing him glaring at him quickly looked away. They probably though he was a psychopathic lunatic. Let them! He thought.

Racing down the street, tears steamed for the second time that day.

*

She had died in her sleep, after suffering with a long term illness. He had been with her throughout. He was the only one to wait with her when her family disowned her. He had prayed until the early hours, yet that hadn't stopped her. Robert resented her for this, he hated her for deserting him. Putting everything he had on the line for her, he had now lot his family, his money and his trust. Everything for someone who gave up so easily.

Robert sat in the front garden of his house he could no longer afford. Every last penny had gone into her treatment, now he had a mortgage he could no longer afford. On top of that, an empty house. He felt like giving up. He opened the front door of his house and walked inside.

*

He picked up her photo, he hugged it tight against himself. He didn't want to have ever met her, yet at the same time he did. Robert dropped the picture on the floor, smashing with it the bright enamel frame that surrounded it. She had picked it herself, as she had said "A reminder for you for when I am gone, and never will return."


There is a man, useless and no longer needed


He picked up the frame, and threw it from an open window.

There is a man, unwhole and into small broken pieces

He sat on the unmade bed, he began circling his finger around the swirls in pale blue and stroking the velvet material in nights sky black. For the third time that day he let tears stream down his face.

Anger swept into his heart, overcoming the grief, the pain and the sorrow, he allowed his brain to bring dark thoughts to his mind. His heart had been broken into pieces, now it throbbed with anger and hatred to someone he had once cared for.

There is a man, anger consumes him in a ball of flames, twisting and manipulating his heart and mind until he knows nothing of the past

Rob began smashing things, breaking, twisting and bending everything in sight. He swept aside a candle, behind it he found a note, it read:


Dear Rob,
I am the song of birds in the morn,
The brightest of suns, the fullest of moons,
I am the wind that brushes you face,
The scariest of creatures, the prettiest of flowers.

Remember me now, in times of need. I plead to you now, never recede into thoughts of hate over me; I beg of you. If you do, I will never return, to watch over you.

Dellia


For the fourth time that day he cried.
 
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katiekitten

The Compromise
Aw... *sniffs* That was very well written. A few typos, repetitive words, but the emotion was portrayed spectacularily. The ending sentence is brilliant, as is the 'there is a man...' bits. Very nice. =D

A typo...

so that his kneck

No 'k' in neck. =D

Keep up the good work, fellow bookworm. =D
 

Chaotic Pink

Let the zephyr blow.
Chapter Two: Dear Diary...

Like I said, it isn't nice. He continued like this for the rest of the day and the start of the next. He had not bothered to change his clothes, so his grey suit remained, and the tear stains only worsened. Rob's hair was a birds nest, very messy and growing longer by the minute. But worst of all was his face, it was unclean and the tears he had cried earlier had formed rivers of clean skin down his face. He was like a small child who had been rolling around in mud and filth, then had run all the way back home; only to fall one block away and stumble back crying to his mum.

He had calmed down for now, his emotions were still in a mess, but much to his amazment he had been able to handle when for now at least. Rumaging around the house had helped him, but, he was searching. Searching for a certain object, a small, pink diary with tiny pictures of butterflies on the front. Robert could remember buying it for Dellia so many years ago. Tears did not flow, but one came to his eye, only to disappear as he spotted it among the rubbish overflowing in a cupboard.

He lifted it up, held it against the blue wall and opened the front cover. Putting the light on he read:

The personal property of one, Dellia Smith. Private property!

He recalled the poem he had read earlier, the one Dellia had written.

I am the song of birds in the morn,
The brightest of suns, the fullest of moons,
I am the wind that brushes you face,
The scariest of creatures, the prettiest of flowers.


She wouldn't mind, he decided, she had told him to remember her. With the diary he could, only it was a rather strange way. He sat down on the leather suite and settled down into reading.

13th of May 2006
Dear diary,
Its me Dellia, I've been up to the hospital again today. Not with Robert, he doesn't know I've been, he'd get me if he did. The results are back, its positive, they start treatment next week. I'll have to tell him soon. Not just yet though. He wouldn't understand. Rob would fly off of the handle. I can't really write much, he'll be back from work soon, best start cooking. Make everything seem normal.
Bye diary,
Dellia (4.15pm)


His mouth dropped open, half in shocked disbelief, half in because he hadn't bothered to tell him. Rob could remember the day, 5th of June she had told him. She had gone through so much so soon, without him. He could remember the 13th of May, his memory was so clear now, like the Niagra Falls. 13th of May, he'd had a bad day at work and he had taken his anger out on a slanging match with Dellia.

"BRILLIANT!" He shouted, loosing his rag for the first time that day. "She was a liar, an idiot, too weak for her own good. She couldn't beat a stupid illness that millions can overcome."

Do not remember me in vain and hatred, I will not be watching no longer.

He looked back at the diary, ripping the page out in a fury. Who cares if she doesn't watch over me, I don't believe in that rubbish

To be quite fair, he did, and strongly. If Dellia was watching over, she would be crying, she was emotional like that.

Do not remember me in fury and loathe, I will not be caring no longer

Glancing at the diary he saw the next date in the diary was the 25th of May, her Birthday. He read it:

Dear Diary,
My Birthday today! Everything seems so normal, but it isn't. I got a necklage today, from you know who
Rob smiled, it was from him. Not exactly the greatest or most useful thing, but its beautiful. I really love it. I didn't get anything from anyone else, like family. They don't like me and Rob much. Oh well, who cares! Not me. I have more treatment tommorow. Its horrible; I hate it, I hope I don't loose my hair, then he'll realise.
Night diary.
Dellia (10.45pm)


Do not remember me in spite I would if it was the other way round. Remember me as if I was still walking, breathing and caring. I still am, in a different way.

For the second time that day, Robert lost his rag.

*

One way he could express himself was in a diary, the only way, he thought. Robert ventured outside, he had decided to change his outfit. For the tears reminded him too much of the funeral. This time he wore a tight fitting unbranded blue t-shirt and tattered baggy jeans, both complete with creases. Venturing into one large shop he spotted the diaries. He walked over to them, he picked up a womans diary first, simular to Dellia's. Then, noticing a dark blue one he picked it up and took it to the counter. The young girl behind the till stared at him, puzzled.

"That'll be £2.50 sir." She held her hand out and turned away, rummaging with her free hand in her bag.

He hadn't got any money on him. He only had 50p and some foreign money on him. Damn it! He though to himself. A confused expression passed across Roberts face.

"I don't have it." He mumbled, casting his eyes so low that no light entered them and they turned grey.

She strutinized him, squinting her heavy eyelids. She seemed to realise that something was troubling him that day and for the rest of his life.

"On the house, dear." The woman with the name badge of Demi replied, taking a round £2 and a pentagonal shaped 50p out of her pocket. She placed them carefully in the till. Demi nodded, and swept her blonde hair to one side.

*

Dear diary,
I am broken, a thousand pieces all joined back together with un-sticky glue. At least thats how I feel. Its hopeless, everything that came into my life those 5 years ago has left without a trace. Before she died Dellia donated her clothing to chairty, you see.

I bought this diary today. Its similar to hers, only with footballs replacing the butterflies, and pink being swopped with dark blue.

I don't feel alone though, only mentally though. She'll be watching. Every step I take.

I really can't write much.
Rob.


He looked down at his page, brilliant he thought. I'm getting soppy in my old age...

Will write the rest up later!
 
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Chaotic Pink

Let the zephyr blow.
Chapter Three: Let it be, let it go.​

Everything that is gone, is gone. Done and dusted.
Everything you once knew, forget it. It doesn't matter now.
Everything you think. Leave it behind, it will be your bane.
Everything becomes nothing, and nothing is nothing.
And nothing comes from nothing. So forget it...


Robert had a knock at the door, for once. It was the first time that someone had, at least the first after her death. Dellia had many friends, at least she did when she was breathing, they often came round.

He hesitantly enter the corridor, and nervously opened the white, french doors. A woman in a black dress stood in the doorway. She seemed meek, he got that impression without even knowing her.

"I am a Samaraton. I have come to you to tell you of our beliefs, and convert you."

Company. A rare and fleating thing, something to treasure.

He scanned her, she wouldn't judge him nor jecture him. "Come in." He beckoned with his left hand. He held the door ajar for the woman to come in.

"Thankyou kindly, good sir. I sense there is something of trouble that is affecting you. Please share?" Her face had soften, her features relaxed. Something welcoming, someone caring. He wanted to tell her how he felt. He let it pour out of his soul, from his heart into the air.

A problem shared and all that He thought.

(Will type the rest up later, after I have done typing it up and editing.)
 
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katiekitten

The Compromise
...I really like the italic part. VERY nice. =D

It might be better if you type numbers in word form, but it's your decision. =D

Edit: Goodness... My 1000th post! XD
 
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