View Full Version : Dancing In The Minefields- edited and revised additon.

March 15th, 2013, 12:14 PM
England, Cambridge.

Saturday, April 14th, 1944.

3:45 p.m. P.m.

I stared at my reflection through a window as the bright sun reflected upon my face. The heat blistered my forehead and my vision blurred as the tears started to well in my eyes. This was really happening.

People were in crowded in the church, all here to mourn my mother's death. Everybody was dressed in the most gloomy clothing I had ever seen before. I wasn't seated next to anyone I had recognized; instead I was squeezed in between a pair of elderly ladies.

One of the ladies tapped my shoulder. "Are you her daughter?"

I stared up at her. "Yes," I choked out the dreaded words.

"My condolenses, your mum was a lovely woman." she said.

My lip quivered. "Thank you, miss,"

The other lady turned to me. "Why are you seated so far away from them?" she made a gesture towards my relatives.

I placed my hands in between my thighs. "I haven't a clue,"

I'd heard from my friends Arabella and Clementime that was usually reserved seating at funerals, but yet my relatives were scattered all across the room. My aunts and uncles were a row across from me, then my grandparents were at the very front row; my father was at the other side of the room. It was him who arranged the seating, and for unknown reason he wanted me far away from everyone else.

I watched my father in his seat. His charcoal black hair appeared even darker this time, and his grey eyes were a shade lighter. I searched for an expression of emotion is his face but I discovered nothing except for coldness. He had a piercing gaze and each one of his long fingers was neatly clasped together in his lap.

A woman behind me scuffed. "She would never do that!"

"It's not exactly beyond her true nature, have you really forgotten what happened years ago?" a man replied.

I heard whipsers on how my mom might have died throughout the room. Nobody actually knew exactly what happened the night of her death, but as her child I was positive of a few things.

I can recall the night of her disappearance, it was only two weeks ago. My mum left late in the night, without any reason or explanation for doing so. I hadn't reacted because I felt like I was dreaming, and I had no control over my actions. The next morning my father searched desperately for her, and a local boy found her body at park behind a bush. The police phoned my father and when he came back home, he told me in a few simple words "Your mum has died." I denied and continued to believe I was dreaming, but today I was confronted with the awful reality. I was a motherless child.

The autotopsy revealed little to nothing. Apparently, my mum slipped and landed forward into a rock; causing a concussion. She also had a severe case of hypothermia due to how freezing it was that night. While it did reveal how she died, it didn't explain why left, or who she thought of before she died. All the questions I longed to know but no one could answer.

The priest stood up and brushed sweat off his cheek. "We have gathered here today to mourn the death of Alice Wesley Newbury. She is survived by her husband, Allen Newbury and her parents, Lennon and Ramona Smith. Siblings, John Smith, Alex Calloway, and Libby Ainsworth. Then her daughter, Jane Imogene Newbury."

When the priest said my name, all of my relatives turned to me. My father stared for quite awhile but he didn't say anything. I wanted to swallow my feelings and show them I was fine, but it was all too difficult. A tear drop spilled down my cheek, and splattered onto my velveteen coat.

My uncle John squeezed in between the two elderly ladies and sat beside me. "It's alright Jane." I rested my head into his coat and quitely sobbed.

I liked my uncle comforting me, but I wasn't fond of being called by my first name. I preffered my middle name, Imogene. You see, Jane sounded like a name for a girl who was feminine and extroverted, but that wasn't me. However, when something terrible happens you don't worry about those things.

I noticed a couple of my friends were there, Arabella and Clementime; they were both accompanied by their parents. They waved at me and offered sympathetic glances. I waved back shyly and lowered my head. I wasn't in the mood for chatting with my friends, and I wasn't going to be for a long while.

After the ceremony was over, we began walking towards the cemetery. Only the the immidiate family was allowed at the burial service. As we walked, I watched as children played in the streets. The boys pretended to be soldiers and the girls tended to their dolls. I smiled at all of them because I was not every child was as miserable as I was today. My pace quickened allowing my relatives to follow in my shadow.

"You mustn't walk so fast!" my father scolded. Those were the first words he said to me today.

I whipped around. "Maybe you all should walk faster? It's not my fault you can't keep up!"

My mood shifted frm sadness to anger. I was angry because my father's lack of emotional connection towards me. He's never been very compassionate, however I just he would at least make an attempt to comfort me. I stomped my feet on the ground, not caring that the mud would a stain on my shoes. I folded my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes until I could barely see.

My father's jaw bone clenched and his fists tightened. He trailed back to start a conversation with my uncle. "I know people will always judge, but it was so many years ago!" my father mumbled. I was curious about all of the secrecy surrounding me, and a great deal of it was obviously forbidden for me to know. However, that only increased my longing to uncover the secrets.

My aunt Libby pushed her son Gregory in his perambulator. She gently caressed his cheeks and softly whispered down to him. I envied him, for I knew I could never experience the same with my mother again. Even at the age of thirteen, I still enjoyed how my mum would read stories to me at night and greet as if it were the last she would see me. And of those times, it was.

After our long walking trip, we arrived at the cemetery. I found a copy of my mom's obituary lying in the grass, I examined it. She looked at least a decade younger and much more cheerful. I suppose I resmebled her by a great deal, with my pale blue eyes and blonde hair.

The cemetery felt haunted, it was no surprise due to all the dead people there. The grass was unmaintained and there was no sight of a healthy tree in distance.

*Not exactly the full chapter, but I was far too lazy too upload the rest.*