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The Search |
| Written by Angelica | |
| Monday, 14 January 2008 | |
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Share it:      The smell was overpowering. It brought tears to her eyes. She could barely breathe over the stench of the decaying bodies of soldiers. Shoving one over with her foot, she grimaced to see what was left of the soldiers face being devoured by maggots. Muttering a quick apology to the body, she moved forward. There was only one who she was looking for. Half hoping, half dreading she'd her brother among these fallen men. She imagined how things used to be. Him in the meadow leaning against his favourite apple tree, his pipe clenched between his teeth. Oh, how she longed to smell the smoke of his tobacco. She prayed for anything that would tell her he's still alive. She'd been searching for days, how tired she was. Whenever she slept she was plagued by dreams of he brother. No, they were nightmares of her brother, she dreamed she'd find his body, cold and lifeless in the cold dirt. These dreams would always leave her feeling lonely and helpless. "Where can he be?" she thought, "Please Lord let him live." She hoped, but she doubted, too. The odds pointed to his death. Why should he live when so many others died? She did not expect to find him alive, but she needed to find him. She couldn't help feeling that somehow he'd find a way to make it. She needed proof to tell her he's dead. She had been following his army for months. Always a step behind and now she was too late. She only arrived after the war was over. 'Just in time to watch all the soldiers die.' She thought bitterly. She looked around her, the whole field strewn with the dead. The air was filled with the moans and cries of the wounded. She had done what she could, but she still felt helpless. She choked back tears. These people had lives. They had wives, mothers, children. People only seem to think of the dead soldiers, they only ever pitied the dead. They were gone, they had nothing to worry about. We never think of the families that were ripped apart, the crying mothers, fatherless children. What of all the people that were left behind? All of these thoughts swam around in her head confusing her, saddening her. She was pulled from her thoughts by one word. It seemed to cry out louder than all the others, yet it was only a whisper. "Rosalie!" it coughed roughly, "Rosa!" She froze. That was her name. Rosalie. But the name 'Rosa', only one called her that. She looked around, finally spotting him about three feet away. Rosalie ran to her brother with tears of joy in her eyes. She pulled him up into her arms and half laughed half cried into to his shoulder. As she gently laid him back down, she noticed the blood. It seemed to be everywhere! She quickly located the source. He had a large gash from his chest to his stomach that oozed with blood. He was losing too much, too quickly. He needed help, and he needed it now. Looking around frantically she saw a man kneeling over a body. She guessed he was doing the body count. She got his attention and waved him over. "Please, I beg of you, help him" She gestured hopelessly to her brother. The man knelt down and inspected the cut. Quickly he removed his cloak and pressed it over the wound. "Hold it like that while I get help." He had a strong, firm voice and wordlessly Rosalie obeyed. She stared down at her younger brother, into his deep blue eyes. So dull they looked. So full of pain. Where was that twinkle that she had grown so fond of? She was surprised he was still conscious after all the blood he lost. His hand moved onto hers, trying to comfort her when it was he who was in pain. So many memories overcame her. First, she remembered the day he was born. She was just three at the time but the memory was clear. Her mother had died giving birth to him, but she had chosen the name before she died. Jeremy. Rosalie didn't know where the name had come from but she remembered being so happy laying there next to her mum in the lumpy old bed. Her father was sat on the edge not knowing whether to be happy or sad. For Rosalie, it was a bitter-sweet memory. She remembered the joy in her mother's eyes as she looked at her two young children, but she also saw a great sadness, but she didn't understand why yet. She sat there, so happy, entirely oblivous to the fact her mother lay next to her, dying. Her memory moved onto her mothers funeral, she had only begun to grasp that her mum wasn't coming home. She cried and cried, little Jeremy was her only comfort. Whenever she looked into those dark, saphire eyes she couldn't help but smile. Even then they had that mischevious twinkle. As they grew older they became best of friends. Jeremy would always have a new prank to pull and would always land himself in trouble. But Rosalie had a quick wit and always seemed to get him out of it. She remembered the day when the soldier knocked on the rickety, old door and deliverd the news that Jeremy was to fight. They were taking all men over sixteen who were fit. Jeremy had turned sixteen a few days before. That was only a few months ago, but it had felt like years to Rosalie. She didn't know much about the war, she didn't even know how or why it had started.
Jeremy's weak cough pulled her back to reality.
He smiled softly at her and she smiled back, though she knew he was leaving. For, in his eyes the mischevious twinkle appeared for the last time, just for her. She didn't know when he arrived, but the man that had tried to help before, caught her as she fell backwards, waves of tears spilling from her eyes. Her best friend,her brother! He was dead! This can't be, he was only sixteen! The many sleepless nights and the stress, and worry overcame her. She leaned back into the thick, protecive arms as a wave of sweet, dreamless sleep enveloped her mind and at least for a little while brought her peace. Copyright 2008 Angelica |
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 09 July 2008 ) |
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