Son . Brother . Friend

Here lays to rest

Pierre Villaire

Son .  Brother .  Friend

1925 – 1945

The rain came down hard.

Each drop seemed to punctuate the statement, making it scream louder in her head.

Son.

Brother.

Friend.

The words were on repeat in her head as if trying to negate  what she knew.

She knew that he was much more than that,

he was inspiration, he was lover, he was love, he was life, he was  to be her life!

How could they not know this. But how could they he was gone before they could proclaim to the world that they were one.

How was she to go on now that her life was no longer.

He was gone!

Tears, hot and aching, spilled down her face mixing in with the rain and becoming one with the dirt and making mud.

The stark reality of it made more real by seeing his name in stone.

Son. Brother . Friend

Prissilla didn’t even feel when her sister came up beside her.

Some how her soft whisper broke through the noise in her head,

“Prissy you are soaked right through, it is time. We must leave now.”

With one long look at the stone she allowed her sister to lead her away with one thought in her head- He was MINE.

____

Joining in today in the first Write On Edge writing prompt for 2012! Woohoo!

For this week, we were asked to write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece in which an epitaph features prominently–in 500 words or less.

Hope you enjoyed.

Happy New Year! May it be a year filled with lots of writing opportunities and accomplishments for us all.