Gun metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)

"How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?"

The things we bury
Can tell you a lot about
Who we are.

The difference between
a garden and a graveyard
Is what we choose
To put in the soil.

It was a Sunday. In a few holy books, it would have been the Lords day. But in Dorothy's books, it was her day off.

Church bells chimed in the distance and few were around to hear them on the breezy hillside.  Five people stood, gathered around a dirt pile.

A child wept loudly among the other four. The small one had not a clue for a reason why something unsettling was there- but rather why it was not there.

It had been just under a week since the day Dorothy realised she was in love; since the day she had her first kiss; since the day she felt, for the first time in half a month, full again after her father died; since the day... Charlie died.

Dorothy could never work out why arrangements for such events took so long. She could never figure out why the dead had to wait  a business mans three days for the dead to be sent off. Dorothy would have liked to do the funeral differently as although Charlie was an innocent and pure boy, he had no crave for religious exploits.

But despite all that- there wasn't a holy funeral, where a pastor came to say a few words. Small Heath or God, rather, didn't deal with the poor. "The way of God." She supposed.

So now as the five stood on the hill, surrounding a dug up dirt pile, Dorothy started to wonder, "where's the man who should definitely be here?"

Soon enough, tear tracks stained their faces. Theo cried for the loss of a brother. Tammy cried for the loss of something she couldn't understand, nor explain. Leah cried for guilt. Matilda cried for a best friend. And Dorothy: she cried for all those things.

One would observe, if they were standing close enough- but also far away enough- the epitome of human selfishness. We, as humans, are above all, selfish. One only cries at the loss of a loved one because that person can no longer give us the feeling they once gave us. Humans pack-bond for purpose; so they can provide, conquer and create.

Dorothy kept a secure arm around Theo's shoulder and a firm grip on Matilda's hand. They didn't have a clue how long they had spent out there. Any sensible person would have headed inside at this point, rambling about the cold. But instead, they stared on. It had been cold for a while now.

——

"Where do we go?" Dorothy thought. "What happens afterwards? Death isn't a stranger, so why won't it tell us? People forget religion is tardy in its predictions- so where do we go?"

Her cosmical questions had to come to a close when she entered the cluttered and dirty walkway where the five- now four- children resided.

"Why didn't he come? Where was he? They were practically brothers and he couldn't turn up for a fucking send off?" She fumed quietly. "He always does this. Leaves when things go wrong- then all of a sudden: 'ah, Mr Shelby! My hero'. No thanks. I don't need a fucking hero. What kind of hero cuts innocent people in the street? Some fucking hero..."

Leah was rummaging around in the unstable living space. She grabbed a tattered brown bag and rifled through the minimal contents. She sighed when all she pulled out was half a bread bun and a chocolate bunny head.
Tammy's cries still did not relent.