Remember What You Did To Sorcha!
I thought it might be time for another snippet of The Circled Green, and after much thought I decided to introduce you to not Aurora, but her father. Aurora will come soon, I promise.
The simple of act of stepping into the graveyard made the world seem greyer. It was not the stone walls of the church that did it, nor was it the stones that marked the graves of so many lost loved ones – although both of these things did assist the feeling, surely. It was just that there was a feeling of greyness to the world, that even the bright colours flicking about the edges seemed darker.
The only spot of colour that did seem bright was the hair, bright as fire, of a young woman already visiting a grave marked by a towering angel. A young boy, perhaps eight years old, seemed to be with her, although he was far more interested in exploring the graveyard itself and seeing all the symbols on the headstones than he was in actually mourning.
Nathan blinked. The red-haired woman was no longer at the angel, but one row forward. Perhaps he had been wrong, just so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he assumed the woman was here to mourn his wife as well. When she was alive, his world had revolved around Sorcha. He was young, and she was beautiful, and they were in love. Then they had one beautiful daughter, whom Nathan saw as a second sun to revolve around.
They had been so happy. And then, it was just him and Aurora, and they were not.
Sorcha was buried beneath the angel in the middle of the graveyard; the statue wore her face. In its arms it held a baby, wrapped tight and held close to its chest. The real Sorcha was deep below, in the cold ground, her arms wrapped around the babe that they had wanted so badly and that had taken her life.
It was not the baby’s fault, of course, but there were still times that he could not help but wish that she had never fallen pregnant that second time. Then he would still have a wife, Aurora would still have a mother, and none of this difficulty concerning the decision to remarry would ever be needed.
The woman had moved across the graveyard towards the exit by the time Nathan reached Sorcha’s grave. The boy was still wandering between the rows, moving closer and closer with each passing second. His expression as he looked at Nathan was one of curiosity and confusion, as if he wanted to speak to him but had no thought of what to say.
“Cinaed!” called the woman. “It is time. Come!” The boy immediately darted across the graveyard with childish impunity. She looked too young to be his mother – she could only be two or three years older than Aurora – so perhaps she was his sister. No matter what the relation, she took the boy by the hand and led him away, leaving Nathan alone amongst the silent dead.
He stood there, not speaking a word for several minutes. The church bell rang the hour, and he had to wait until the sound subsided to speak the words he had finally found.
“Dear Sorcha,” he began. A breeze, oddly cold for the summer’s day, blew through the cemetery and he found himself struggling for the words he had decided upon. “I am so sorry, can you forgive me for this?”
He could picture her now, imagining what it would be like if she were somehow able to hear his words and answer back. If they were at home she would be sitting in her favourite chair in her sitting room, and looking out the window that opened to the west while she did her needlework. It would be the late afternoon, and the setting sun would paint everything the colours of roses and gold.
1 Comment »
Leave a Comment
Reading your novel’s excerpts always gives me a fresh surge of inspiration to continue doing NaNoWriMo. I find it amazing that you can write this amazing stuff abiding by NaNoWriMo’s no-edit rule!