Hey guys, so, this is what I wrote in September for my Englsish class. Thought you might like to read it :) WARNING: It's quite morbid... no humor. I wrote it on 9/11 actually... but anyways, this isn't my usual writing style, just warning you :) P.S. sorry, it doesnt make sense in some parts lol :)

Flanders' Field

"In Flanders' field, the poppies grow, beneath the crosses row on row, that mark our place within the sky…" Suddenly, the bell rang, silencing her. "Okay everyone, memorize the poem for the Remembrance Day assembly please. Have a good weekend!"

Before she was done her sentence, all of the kids had scrambled out of the classroom. "Finally." She said, talking to herself as she packed up her belongings. It was all unorganized, after all, how was she expected to control a class of thirty six year olds and keep everything neat? She headed back home, grateful that weekends existed, turning on the television and sitting on her old, white couch. In the middle of Grey's Anatomy, her doorbell rang. She got up, and opened the creaky, blue door. There were two army officers standing on her front porch.

"Mrs. Mason?" He asked, looking down at the paper in his hand. "Ye- yes?" She asked, fearing the worst.

"Mrs. Mason," The second officer continued, "We're so sorry for your loss."

"NO!" She yelled, crying. "NO! That can't happen! We just got married!"

"Mrs. Mason, again, we're very sorry." The second officer handed her a folded flag with a poppy resting on top.

"Please, please get out of my house. Please." The officer didn't get a chance to say sorry again before she'd slammed the door in his face. Tears streamed down her face as she ran into the backyard. She grabbed her shovel from the shed, and dug until she fell. She threw the tear stained flag and blood red poppy into the ground, then buried it. She looked down at her work, still crying and collapsed. She walked back into her house, where everything looked as it should. The kitchen was immaculate, the flowers were fresh. She heard her doorbell ring again and stormed towards the ornate door. "What?" She snapped as soon as she saw who was behind the door. "I'm sorry Shae." He said, handing her a bouquet of poppies.

"What the hell is the deal with freaking poppies?!" She screamed, walking to the sink and shoving them down the garborator.

"Ok," He said, letting himself inside. "Usually, people think poppies are symbols of soldiers that fought for our freedom, but whatever."

"I really don't need your attitude right now." She said to him, turning off the sink.

"I'm a psychologist Shae, it's what I do." She rolled her eyes and went over to him.

"What do I do now Andy?" She asked, crying. "He was my everything."

"I know Shae, but we have to move on. Life keeps going, and we have to keep up with it." She cried harder.

"Ok, Shae, ok. What do you need? Im here for you." She kept crying as he carried her upstairs and lay her on the bed, still holding her. She woke up the next day to the sound of her alarm. "What?" She asked, rubbing her head.

"What happened." There was a knock on her bedroom door.

"Shae? You okay?" It was Andy.

"Uh, yeah." She said, rubbing her head. "What happened?" she asked, wiping mascara from under her eyes.

"Well, you fell asleep crying. Get ready, it's time for church."

"Church?"

"They're honoring Tom today." He said, laying a dress on the chair. She got up, and slipped on the black silk dress lying on the antique chair beside the bed.

"It's kind of sick to be holding this at a church." She said once they were in the car. "I mean, people get married at churches! People get baptized at churches! Why would they hold a funeral at a church?" She started to tear up.

"Ok, first of all, churches are supposed to be a sanctuary. Same with poppies! They're supposed to be good symbols."

"I don't see how!" She yelled, crying. "Poppies are red and black!"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, what kind of psychologist are you?! Black is pretty much the colour of death, and red is the colour of blood! Blood and death Andy!"

"Ok, that works if you're really morbid." He said as they pulled into the church. The priest greeted her with a nod as they walked into the ceremony. There was a large oak coffin at the end of the red carpet, with countless poppies resting on its lid. They seemed to be staring back at her, mocking her. She gripped her brother's hand.

"Why are those up there?" she asked.

"Don't forget Shae, to most people they're a good symbol." They walked up the aisle, hand in hand, until they got to the front seats and sat down. She cried the entire ceremony. He just sat and held her hand the entire time.

"In conclusion," The priest said. "Could we please have Mrs. Mason come up and say a few words?"

She wiped her eyes and stood up, enclosing the microphone into her clammy hands. "First of all," She said, moving towards the coffin. "I don't believe that these have any place at my husband's funeral." She said, delicately picking each poppy off the coffin lid and threw throwing them on the ground. "Now, I will continue. My husband was a good man. A man who will live on in my memory for all of time. Thank you." Then she went back to her seat.

"Uhm, very nice speech Shae. Short, sweet, and to the point." Said her brother. After the ceremony, He drove her back to her house.

"Thank you for the ride." She said as she closed the heavy car door. "Shae are you okay?" He called as she climbed the concrete steps. "Shae!" Finally, she turned around. Tears were streaming down her face and her eyes were bloodshot. Her cheeks were blotchy and her makeup was smeared. "Oh, Shae." He said, abandoning his car and running up the steps.

"I-I-I just don-don't know what to do Andy!" She said, crying into his blue silk shirt. "I have no idea what to do!"

He rubbed her back. "Just keep living. We'll get through this. Do you need me to stay another night?" She kept crying but shook her head. "Ok. But if you're not up to working tomorrow, call the school. I'm sure they'll understand."

She walked into her house and didn't bother changing. She didn't want to talk to anyone, or see anyone, or do anything. She climbed up the stairs to her room and slipped under the silk paisley covers, falling asleep. She awoke the next morning to the blaring sound of her alarm, telling her that it was a Monday. She ran into the closet and pulled out a black and grey tweed suit, and a matching black top. She didn't bother with any makeup, today was the Remembrance Day assembly, and she was going to be crying.

She arrived at school and all of her fellow teachers were lined up outside the school door in a 'V' formation.

"Is everything okay?" she asked the first person she came to. Ms. Brighton.

"Everything's fine Shae. But are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine Maggie, what are you all doing out here?"

"We're here for you. We heard about your husband, and we all wanted to offer our condolences."

"Oh, thank you, but I really need to go inside."

"Wait," Someone said, grabbing the sleeve of her blouse. "We wanted to give you something." He handed her a small, white vase with poppies inside.

"Oh, thank you." She said, gritting her teeth and walking inside the old elementary school. There, she saw that blood red poppies lined the walls, along with quotes written by each child. She ran into her classroom and shut the wooden door, glad to be away from the awful flowers. A giant poster she had put up earlier that month greeted her. "Flanders' Field." She said, walking over and ripping the poster down. She was just about finished when the bell rang and kids flooded into her classroom. "Morning Mrs. Mason!" some girls chorused as they threw their belongings into the small, colour-coded cubbies. "Morning." She said absent mindedly as she walked to the front of the room.

"Can anyone remind me what we finished off with last class?" A boy in the front row raised his hand. "Yes Jimmy?"

"We were reading the Flanders' Field poem ma'am." Her face instantly turned red. "Well is there anything else you would like to do?" A dozen hands were raised. "Okay, Cammie?"

"Can we make more poppies like we did last week?" she asked, smiling.

"No… does anyone want to do something that's not related to poppies?" She asked the kids, somewhat hysterically. No one raised their hand. "Fine." She said, grabbing glue, red tissue paper, and ugly, black construction paper. "Get your supplies and make a poppy."

The kids quickly made poppies as she sat down at her desk. A few minutes later, a little girl in a red dress came up to her. "Mrs. Mason?" She asked, running up to the teacher's desk. "I made this for you. My mommy told me about your husband." Then the girl gave her legs a little hug. "Oh, uhm, thanks Molly." She said, half smiling. As soon as the little girl's back was turned, she ripped up the red paper flower and threw it in the garbage. Suddenly, the recess bell rang. "Thank god." She whispered under her breath, as the kids ran out the door. She put her head in her hands and sighed.

After a few minutes of un-interrupted silence, there was a knock on her door. "Hello, just wanted to remind you to hand these out to your kids before the assembly." The principal said, handing her a tiny Ziploc baggie full of poppy pins. "Oh, yes of course." She said smiling at him.

When the kids came back in, she handed each of them a tiny poppy. "Now, can anyone tell me what poppies symbolize?" "People who died in wars." Some little boy said. "Very good. Now, can anyone tell me what they think poppies symbolize? How do you feel when you see one?" One by one every child said a similar copy of the first one's mini speech. They all went something like 'Poppies are good; they help us remember people that died. There's a poem about them, blah blah blah.' Not one child agreed with her about the death and blood theory. "Ok kids, line up for assembly." The kids lined up in front of the door, poppies on the lapels all ready to go. The contrast between the kids smiling innocently at her and the tiny, wicked flowers on their chest laughing at her was incomprehensible. "Oh, Ok, let's go." She said, feeling like a sergeant leading tiny troops into a warzone. Once they were in a gym and her class was lined up in a straight line beside her, she looked at the decorations around the large room. Red and black as far as the eye could see. White tombstones were collected in a corner, with veteran's names written on them, and poppies blossoming all over. Every person –excluding her- was wearing an evil, red flower on his or her lapel. She started to cry. What was wrong with people putting up death flowers all over the gym of an elementary school?! The choir began to sing "In Flanders' Field" while everyone's heads were bowed.

She stood up and stomped over to the microphone. "Hello everyone." "Hello Mrs. Mason," Kids and teachers from every grade replied. "I just want you all to know, that I think these decorations are wrong. All wrong." She walked up to the numerous poppies coming up from the gym floor onto the wall. She ripped them all off, threw them on the floor, and then ripped more and more. She kept tearing them off the gym wall until she'd gone one entire lap around the gym. Then she started laughing. "There, now everyone can think better without evil little flowers staring at them." The teacher on her right looked at her like she was crazy. "You all think I'm insane for doing this don't you?" She asked them, becoming more and more hysterical every second. "Don't you?!" She yelled into the microphone, then throwing it on the floor.

"Fine, see if I care!" She yelled, kicking off her heels and running out of the gym. She ran all the way into the equipment room, where she grabbed the first thing she saw, then ran into the girl's bathroom.

After her teacher didn't come back, a little girl asked to go to the washroom. The substitute agreed, and Molly ran off, looking for Mrs. Mason. After checking her classroom, outside, and in the cafeteria, she decided to look for her teacher in the bathroom. When she walked through the doorway, and pushed aside the heavy metal door, she screamed. There, was her teacher, hanging from a skipping rope attached to her neck and the top of a stall. Just where her feet couldn't touch. The little girl screamed again, willing for someone, anyone to come and help her. Three days later, the school had a funeral. The entire school was invited, and everyone cried. All of the teacher's students had made a paper poppy and laid it on her grave. The teachers placed real poppies. From her brother: a simple card.

well, hope you guys liked it. :)

Lilly :)