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Smoke rose high into the light blue sky. Its great dark grey bulk a sign of sorrow to come. The carnage of the plane layed sprawled about the charcoaled ground. There were no survivors. Families and friends are yet to be informed of the horrific news. Lives would be ruined. The billowing smoke attracted the attention of a passer by. His car slowed down to a halt. His gaze never leaving the site of the plane crash. He quickly called 911. It would be hours till help came, what you expect; it was in the middle of nowhere. Lives of the kin of the dead still go on as normal, no news has reached them.

A young boy played in the sand. His mother would be coming home today, two weeks of relentless work. His fair hair swayed in the light breeze. It was a pleasant breeze, cool but not too cold. His little toy plane dug deep into the sand as he crashed it down hard into the ground. His eyes looked up from the half buried plane and layed upon a single cloud in the sky. It crept across the sky silently, not troubles would it have on its long journey. The sun was setting low now and the sky began to darken. The small boy picked himself up from the ground and ran to the house far across the lush green lawn. His father waited for him at the back door. There was no mother. Maybe her flight was delayed.

Fire trucks, ambulances and cop cars circled the wreckage of the damaged plane. Chilling water forced the large burning fire to retreat. Only smoke was left rising to the now speckled dark sky. Bodies layed in a row each covered in its own personal body bag. A woman, her black hair matted with blood, was one of the victims. A pretty thing she was, but her body now breathless and cold. Most of the victims were young tourists, couples on vacation. It was a sad sight, but men rushed around in disordered frenzy none having a second thought of the dead they passed. All were looking for something, the planes black box, a small instrument that revealed the cause of the planes **** up.

The man tucked his son tightly into bed. He gently kissed his boy’s head goodnight before leaving the room. He went to the kitchen and sat next to the phone. Patiently he waited for a call from his wife to come pick her up. Her plane is two hours late. There was a flight delay, the man reassured himself. But his wife would have called to tell him the news, maybe she couldn’t get reception. But there’s always a pay phone, but maybe she didn’t have any change on her. The phones loud ringing pierced through his thoughts, causing him to jump back to reality. He quickly snatched up the phone and pressed it to his ear, his hand shaking. It was the police, the police? They had tragic news.

 The man fell back into his chair. He just received news that his wife was a victim of a plane crash, there were no survivors. He began to sob into his hands. His one true love taken away from him so unexpectedly, so sudden, when was the last time he told her he loved her. A month. The boy crept into the kitchen; he laid a small hand on his fathers arm. The man looked up to see a small boy staring at him; compassion masked the confusion he felt. The man grabbed his son and hugged him tightly. How would he tell him the news? His too young to understand.

The smoke had ceased. The black box had been found. The bagged bodies were removed from the site. Everyone wondering about aimlessly suddenly stopped. The realisation of what happened hit the workmen with blunt force. They all looked up to the sky. The half moon had a strange orange glow to it. Tears fell down faces but were quickly wiped away. This wasn’t the time to cry.

The funeral was slow. Relatives and friends circled around a casket. A single white rose sat upon it. Under it was a photo of a young woman with flowing black hair. People cried silently as the priest said his last words. A man stepped forward, his large hand wrapped around a small boys. He placed a rose on the empty casket and mumbled “life was taken from you too soon.” Everyone followed suit, each saying their own line. Everyone stared as the casket was lowered into the freshly dug hole. The man looked at the gold band wrapped around his marriage finger; it had lost its shine.

****

A year had past and the boy was left alone. His father had died of a lonely heart. The boy was now seven, too young to take care of himself. He would be sent to the care of his god mother, Aunt Gracie. Aunt Gracie was unique. She had a quality about her that no one else could match. She was evil cased in a shell of kindness.

The seven year old boy stood at the wooden door, he didn’t want to ring the bell. Finally a tiny finger pressed the button and a buzzing noise sounded through the small house.

“Coming!” Replied a voice.

The boy somewhat regretted pressing the button, he could have just gone to an orphanage. The door swung open. A tall woman towered over him. Her hair was wrapped tightly in hair curlers, her face covered in a green face mask. She looked like a relation of the boogie man. The boy shrank back into himself. An eyebrow cocked up and the woman looked down her nose at the small boy.

“It’s rude to stare.” she growled.

The boy quickly picked up his heavy bags and carried them into the house. The house had an odd smell to it; it smelt of cheap perfume mixed with wet dog. The boy gagged at the smell. How does she stand this disgusting smell? The new comer carried his bags to the spare room; besides a bed and a walk in closet the room was empty. He jumped onto the bed and crawled under the sheets. He didn’t feel like dinner. He instantly fell asleep. Tomorrow he would start at his new school.

****

Two weeks had passed and the boy hadn’t made any friends. The kids bullied him; he was easily rejected without a second thought. No one took the time to know him, no one cared. He would sit alone at recess and lunch, eating the horrid food his Aunt packed. He was ignored in class, besides the teacher, who gave up on him. He wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t answer, he sat silently staring at his hands.

Today was the worst day of all days. Kids yelled their abuse at him. Most of it was living with the neighbour hood witch, but there was one call that stood out. One that cut him through like a blade.

“Your parents died because of you.”

A sixth grader had yelled it out. His heart nothing but a shrivelled lump of ice. He was emotionless. He would yell what you most dreaded hearing. The boy fell to his knees and began to cry into his hands. He did not deserve this, he did nothing wrong.

When everything seemed a helpless void of self sorrow a small light of hope shun through the darkness. The small beam of light gave the boy a sense of warmth and security. He stopped crying and looked up from his hands. Hovering above the crowd of yelling kids was a woman with large white wings. The noise of the yelling softened. Her shiny black hair freely flowed in a non existent breeze. She lowered herself down to her son. She held his chin in her hand and gave him a gradient smile. Mother. The boy stood up to level himself with the kneeling angel. The crowed around him stopped their yelling as they small a young boy hugging a being that wasn’t there. The crowed dispersed quickly, all were gone within minutes, all except for one.

The small girl stood before the young boy, her black hair falling down to her back. She was younger than the boy, but her face showed great wisdom. She watched as the boys gaze rose to the sky. She looked where he was looking. Nothing was there. The boy looked back down at the girl, she met his gaze.

“Hi. My name is Eliza.” She greeted herself.

The young boy looked at her with curiosity. Eliza was his mother’s name.

“My names Benjamin.” He answered

“Want to be friends?” Eliza asked with a smile

Benjamin nodded his head in reply. The newly found friends sat down together, a coll breeze blew past them. It was a nice breeze, it wasn’t too cold.

Copyright 2007 rachael
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