Here's Father's Day number 2. I like this one much, much better. Let me know what you think. HR, how's this for that angst you requested?
Let's take a vote - since no international holidays are coming up very soon (at least that I'm aware of), what do you think about an American Independence Day (July 4) drabble? I would include typical cultural traditions like picnics, fireworks, etc. All in favor, tell me in a review please! If you don't like that, let me know if you have another idea. I'll try and see if I can get away from child-oriented ones now that the Parent's Days are over.
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The grass was wet beneath his knees, damp from the early morning dew. A thin, ethereal mist shrouded all he could see, shimmering and falsely ghost-like.
The world seemed grey, sorrowful and mourning, crying a gloomy lament. Dark trees cast dull shadows across the torpid lawns, the lifeless tombstones standing out of the earth like pale, jagged teeth. The one point of color was a single, blood red rose the blond man held limply in one hand as it curled toward the ground, its emerald leaves brushing against the grave.
Adeline Malfoy
"Addy"
Beloved Daughter
2002-2007
The crimson petals contrasted sharply with the black letters written in the stone, mocking the inadequate, dispassionate words. Life next to death, vibrancy beside lassitude, a terrible juxtaposition lying solemnly in the grass.
Draco's whole life had fallen apart, irrevocably torn to pieces. His only child was gone, lost forever into a dark abyss he couldn't fathom. His marriage was suffering, a despairing fissure between them neither he nor Hermione could repair. Where once there had been love and happiness, their home was now filled with anguish and unspoken tension. It was as if the central piece was missing from the puzzle and the picture wasn't whole, wouldn't stay together without that lost piece linking the rest. Their picture was no longer beautiful, complete. It had greyed like the rest of the world, fading into a lifeless, grotesque shadow.
He had known grief before, known what it felt like to be betrayed, abandoned, hated. But this was a grief unlike any other, a pain that stole away his heart and left a gaping, festering cavity in its place. No father should know so intimately the heartbreak of seeing his little girl, his baby lowered into the ground. No father should ever have to realize that their daughter would never leave for the first day of school, never dress up for a ball, never fall in love. No father should ever have to spend Father's Day alone.
It was supposed to be a day of celebration, a time of laughter and cheer, spent with loved ones. A child was supposed to jump eagerly into her father's lap with ready kisses, supposed to give him hand-drawn cards or sing him songs in high, innocent tones. It was not meant to be spent mourning over his child's grave. It was not meant to be a day of tears and heartache.
The sun had just begun to rise, peeking timidly over the hill and showering the cemetery with hesitant, faint light. The coming June day did nothing to assuage his wintry grief, did nothing to quell the cold, relentless storm inside.
A dry sob erupted from Draco's throat as he collapsed across the stone, silent tears creating desperate trails down his face. The rose fell from his hand and rolled away, its effervescent red lost in the deep, unkempt grass. The only color in his life had escaped, drifting away as unattainably as a broken dream, and the world turned grey.