I Remember

• Olivia Cash, Grade 6, Melbourne Grammar School
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

I Remember
Yesterday morning, my dear, beloved brother was buried at this mournful location. I can remember his procession as we walked sorrowfully towards his gravesite. An immense wave of grief washed over me as I took one last look at his meticulously carved mahogany coffin. It slid swiftly underneath the soil, and with that he had disappeared from my once jovial, ebullient life. My soul mate, my friend, had risen to heaven leaving me a helpless boy in a rampant sea of despair. After the burying, the feasting began. I remember sitting in my mother’s lap, her comforting, soothing hand stroking away my salty tears. It was as if the drooping daisies scattered around the church ground were noticing my melancholy and were desperate to comfort me. However, they were unable to, and seemed to drop their silken petals at the grief around them. I remember my family and friends calm, composed faces and wondered how they could endure the pain.
Now, years later, I visit that churchyard, with its beautiful daisies and primitive weeping willows. I kneel by my brother’s grave. Gently, I place a bundle of crimson and shell pink coloured primroses on the dirty tombstone. I have realised that my brother would not wish for my discomfort. He would wish for my happiness, my joy. I place my hand on the cool marble grave and reminisce the spiritful times that we spent together.
I travel back to my childhood; an epiphany. My brother and I chase each other strenuously amid the graveyard, weaving throughout tombstones. Scarlett and pale daffodil yellow coloured roses line paths, an essence of precious beauty, harmony. My brother swiftly disappears behind a pale pink rose bush in the corner of the cemetery. Time passes by and after a while, I begin to fear for my brother. I search timorously for him; by the duck pond with its harmonious water fountains, behind the beautiful church, in between the violet lavender and sweet scented rosemary bushes. The once lovely, pallid white daisies become heartless, callous roses in my eyes. Trepidation overpowers me and I collapse beneath an oak tree, vulnerable, uncertain. Monotonous time passes and I have lost all remaining hope. Abruptly, I feel a light tap on my shoulder and twirl around with buoyant surprise. My brother’s glinting olive eyes meet with mine and we laugh together; a petite, exquisite fairy’s bell.
The ringing of church bells interrupts my vivid epiphany. I am lying in the verdant grass beneath the aged, gnarled oak tree. I look towards the church, feeling immensely inquisitive. In my eyes it is an enchanting ambience. Emerald green ivy drapes around vast fairytale turrets and the effervescent, vivacious stained glass windows glint in the vibrant sun, reminding me of my brother’s eyes. Imagining him is tender yet I am contented, as I can now be audacious, valiant. My chestnut locks fly like an ebullient songbird, and with the distant sound of two little boy’s laughter, I remember.