Young Writers Society

It was a bright Friday morning. The funeral of Florence Walters was being held at the local church where friends and family were just beginning to assemble.

The sky was a vivid shade of blue. White clouds, which looked like huge pieces of cotton, sailed across the vast sky. The air was light and still with occasional cool breezes. Townspeople probably would have enjoyed the perfect weather, had they have not been anguished by the death of Florence, a lively girl who grew up in front of their eyes.

Inside the local church was a sea of black, struck by grief, mourning in silence. There were occasional mutterings and expressions of how heartbreaking it was.

“She was so young!”

“I loved the girl. She had been a good child all her life.”

“She would occasionally chip in with my chores.”

“The child was adorable!”

The priest commenced the service and everyone felt silent.

“We are gathered here today to say farewell to Florence Helena Walters and to commit her into the hands of God. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Let us now listen to the words of the Holy Scripture that assures us of God’s safekeeping in life and death.’

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

The thin woman with brown hair graying at the roots tied back in a bun, sat among the crowd, letting the gloomy atmosphere and the loss sink in, causing to burst into tears again. A red-headed, plump woman sat beside the thin lady, consoling her.

The thin woman couldn’t have been a day older than thirty seven, yet her face bore wrinkles and the expression of a woman who has lived long enough to experience the cruelty and horrors of the world. Her gray eyes were dull and lifeless.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the death, I will fear no evil; for though art with me; thy rod shall comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the House of the Lord for ever.” the words of the priest floated around the church, mixing with the aura of misery to produce a numb atmosphere where the loved ones of the deceased felt hollow. Everyone in the small town of about ninety people knew Florence. Her untimely death was a grave shock.

A few people came up to say a few words about the deceased and the mass sniffled occasionally, the women dabbed handkerchiefs at their eyes and the men tried not to cry just for the sake of their manhood. A picture of Florence was beside the black casket in which Florence was sleeping peacefully for eternity.

“Let us now pray,” said the priest. “Our Father in Heaven, we thank you that, through Jesus Christ, you have given us the gift of the life you give us. In full of work and responsibility, of sorrow and joy, today we thank you for Florence Walters, for what she has given and received. Help us in our mourning and teach us to live for the living in the time that is still left to us.” Everyone listened solemnly to the priest. He spoke of the mercy of God, how he blessed us with Florence and the good girl she’s been all her short life. “And when the eternal day of resurrection dawns upon the graves of the earth, grant us grace to rise to eternal life.”

“Amen,” said the congregation.

After completing all the rites, the casket was closed and carried out to bury. A few people followed the coffin carried to the graveyard to witness the committal.

The brunette and the red head stood hand in hand. The red head consoled the brunette who now couldn’t control herself anymore. She sobbed hysterically and tried to break free from the red head’s grasp.

“I want my Flo back! She was only sixteen! Why’d you take her away from me?” she broke free from her friend’s clutch and fell on her knees. He gazed up and screamed dementedly, “WHY’D YOU TAKE HER NOW? SHE WAS JUST A CHILD! NO! YOU CAN’T HAVE HER YET! NO! NO, LEAVE ME! Leave me, please! Don’t take my child away from me. Please.” She endeavored to stop the men lowering the coffin, but in vain; the local midwife and her red headed friend held her back.

“In the Name of God, the merciful Father, we commit the body of Florence Helena Walters to the peace of the grave,” said the priest and let three handful of earth fall onto the coffin. “We therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of Resurrection to eternal life.”

The brunette watched the grave-diggers cover the grave of her daughter with earth. When all the rites were carried out and the brunette was weary from receiving condolences, she sat down beside her daughter’s grave and cried. She cried for the loss of her children, for the war and the mothers of the children it took away, the son she lost at childbirth, the daughter and husband to war. She knew that she needed her daughter. Whom would she live for now?

She stared at the upturned soil on Florence’s fresh grave. I want my daughter back, she thought. Hang in there, Flo. I’ll come back for you.

The brunette felt a hand on her shoulder. She thought that she was alone there. Apparently her red headed friend stayed back for her.

“Kylie? Are you ready to go home?” said the red headed woman.

“Yes,” Kylie replied, dabbing the handkerchief at her eyes. “Let’s go home, Meghan.” The mother of the deceased and Meghan Bennett walked home, arm in arm. Kylie turned her back and glanced at Florence’s grave one last time thinking, wait for me darling. We’ll unite again. Kylie tried to convince herself that what she was going to do is not wrong. It was necessary. She needed her back.