This is just something that just popped into my mind when listening to "Zombie" by the Cranberries. I own nothing. This is my first Secret Garden story.
Zombie
She clutched the worn letter in her hand, shaking her head in disbelief. Crumpling it up, she tossed it to the perfectly polished floor in anger. She glanced at her uncle and cousin, their solemn faces doing nothing to console her. How she didn't want to believe that he was dead. Perhaps he was just missing, as many soldiers end up? She looked again to her family, knowing her hopes were crushed. She refused to let the tears flow freely, attempting to gain some composure as her frame shook violently. She steadied herself against the wall, shoulders quavering, eyes shut closed. She crumpled to the ground, bringing her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. Her uncle attempted to help her up, but she merely swatted him away violently. Her cousin shook his head at a loss, trying to look unfazed by the news.
But you see, it's not me, it's not my family.
In your head, in your head they are fighting,
With their tanks and their bombs,
And their bombs and their guns.
In your head, in your head, they are crying
She had horrible dreams shortly after he was drafted. Images of guns filled her nightmares, and she waited breathlessly for any word from him. She did not care if his letters were only a line long. It was reassurance enough that he was alive.
In your head, in your head
Zombie, zombie
She wondered whether she might be dreaming, that none of this was real. She hoped someday she would wake up from this nightmare of an existence.
At the funeral, there was no body to bury. She watched lifelessly as they started covering the empty coffin. She bit her lip, crying silently as not to disturb anyone. She thought of how wrong it all was, how he should be by her side in the garden, whispering into her ear. She held her arms across her stomach, thinking of the children they never had. She noticed everyone leave but remained rooted in her spot. She shrugged away her uncle and her mother-in-law. She looked up at the woman who became a mother to her. Her tear stained cheeks matched hers. Martha looked on forlornly, grasping the hand of her small son, her husband rubbing her back in comfort.
"Mary-" Mrs. Sowerby choked on her words, bringing the young girl into a hug.
"Why?" she asked, looking up at her, "why, mum?"
She shrugged, pained at the loss of her son.
"Come, it's starting to rain," Lord Craven urged the women.
"Just give me some time," Mary pleaded, watching them agree and leave.
She sat down on the dirt, in front of the grave. She traced her finger over his name, his birthday. She choked on a sob, letting the floodgates open. He was supposed to be coming home, the war was over. She was overjoyed when she heard the news, only to have the letter delivered a few days later. 1898-1918, the stone read. He was but twenty. She cursed aloud, not caring if anyone heard her. She stared at the overcast, dull grey skies, letting the rain mingle with her tears.
It's the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen.
In your head, in your head they're still fighting...
In your head, in your head, they are dying...
He had been drafted in 1916. She cried and pleaded with her uncle to pay for him so he wouldn't leave, just as he had for Colin. Of course, he refused to pay his way out of war, insisting that it was not right. Instead, they married hastily in the village church in Thwaite. She remembered the ceremony fondly. She wore a simple white dress, he in his nicest dress clothes. His parents and her family looked on proudly, yet disheartened that tragedy hurried the marriage to occur faster than everyone had planned. He set off for France shortly after with promises to write every day.
"Why, God?" she yelled to the sky.
Her only answer was a clap of thunder and lightening. She laughed bitterly, allowing herself to be soaked to the bone by the rain. She did not care if she should die from hypothermia-at least they would be together. She toyed with the plain gold band on her ring finger, a sad smile gracing her young face. Yes, they would be together once more. She stood with purpose, striding to the garden, sitting herself on the swing. It was the very same swing they had fixed together and sat on together. The garden was a fitting location.
She pushed herself off the ground, higher and higher. She let her grip from the ropes loosen, freeing herself from reality, falling towards Dickon.
Please review, it would be greatly appreciated. I don't know whether I should continue this or not, but as of now it is complete. There are several ways I could continue it, but I would first like some feedback.
