Of Death and Roses

00 | Prologue

ONE DARK AND DREARY DAY AT THE END OF JUNE, a newly plotted grave lay under the twisted branch of the sycamore tree on the grounds of a crumbling church. The black, marble headstone stood alone from all the others in the often lonesome graveyard, separated from its friends that were no longer among the living. Clouds of charcoal grey hung above as rain thrashed down, an omen for the final sermon to come.

A small group dressed in their finest black attire gathered around it, some stoically still and others weeping quietly while dabbing their eyes with a soaked white cloth. The vicar stood behind the gravestone, muttering unintelligible sentences lost on the tip of the summer wind. 

At the back of the group, an arm's length away from the nearest person, a young man stood with his long black hair covering the sharp edges of his pale face. A lonely red rose hung at his side, the stem loose in his fingers.

For the few minutes, he'd been silent as he strained to hear what was being said. However, an incessant buzzing filled his head whilst scattered memories flitted around.

Her smile came first. When they met, all she had to do was smile and he was putty in her hands.

Then there were the spontaneous dates that came after. How many had he planned just to be close to her?

Finally, a fuzzy feeling ran rampant in his stomach—the long-lost memory of how she made him feel. It was something he would never experience again.

She was gone in a puff of smoke. It was as though she'd never been in his life to begin with. The hollow ache was his only tether to knowing she existed once. Otherwise, his life carried on as it had before she stumbled into it—lonely.

A part of him often wondered over the last few weeks since it happened whether she would just waltz through the door, apologising for her tardiness and everything would resume how it was before. He thought if he wished hard enough he would will it into existence.

But there was her name written in stone, her name immortalised on an untimely grave.

CORINNE BRADLEY
BELOVED DAUGHTER AND FIANCEE
18TH JUNE 1923 — 18TH JUNE 1942

The ring burned in his pocket, still locked away in its box. It called to him, begging to be opened and remembered. Though, how could he whilst knowing it held the promise of a future that would never be fulfilled?

The sermon ended.

As if on instinct, his mind snapped back to the sorry scene in front of him. Her family meandered around the graveyard towards the large black gates, her mother lingering for a moment longer. She turned her head towards him and offered a small smile through her tear-soaked face before joining the rest of them.

There were only six of her family left, including her mother. After the war broke out, many of her family remained trapped in Germany or became conscripted here in Britain. Most of them were unaccounted for, presumed dead, two of them being her father and older brother. Corinne was lucky her mother fled to Britain when she did.

Stumbling towards the fresh mud, crutch held under his free arm, he dropped the rose on top of it. He kneeled as best as he could beside her grave, tracing his fingers over the engraved words.

With a sigh, he shook his head. "I wish I could change this," he whispered softly as the breeze picked up. "I promised you wherever you may go and wherever you are I will find you. I promise, I will find you again, no matter what it takes." He stopped himself from continuing, allowing the heaviness to hang over him.

Almost like it was in response, the wind picked up and rustled the green leaves around the grave. A strength filled his bones and he hoisted himself up onto his feet again. Wiping the tears from his eyes, it was the only sign he needed to carry on.