Raaawr (^_^) hello you lovely lot, how are you all this fine-if-a-little-cold evening? Would you like some more story? Well, I hope you do, because you're getting it anyways :L
It's another shortie sorry, but I should have some more longer ones up this weekend, providing the internet doesn't die because of all the snow we're forecast! (Seriously, I'm in the North-East of England and the weather map was just full of the white stuff. YAY :D) more snowball fights for me, even though I do kind of suck at them. I have a ridiculous aim, and I close my eyes and flinch everytime someone throws one, even if I know it won't hit me :L
Oh wells, it's the taking part that counts right?
Hope you enjoy the chapter (jeez my notes are gonna end up longer than the story itself!) and remember to review, favourite and follow! :) love ~nellen xx
The silent, awkward pause that followed the revelation was broken by Flora, who could tell that her friend was confused and a little bit upset. She skipped over to him, standing on her tiptoes and slipping a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Hey, I've got some time before I have to check on the oven, would you like to go look through these in the sitting room?"
Clive bit his lip and nodded, scooping up the pictures and following her through. She made room for him on the sofa and flopped down gently beside him. She waited for the boy to talk, or to show her the photos, but nothing came. After a few minutes of silence and staring blankly at the wall, she finally eased them out of his grasp and began to look through them herself.
"You're mother was very pretty," she smiled, tilting Clive's face so that their gaze met, "you've got her eyes."
"I get, well, I got told that a lot." His voice was quiet, lips twitching as he tried to think of the right emotion. Happy? Well, he was, because they were very nice photos and he'd thought they'd been lost in the accident. Sad? The loss of his parents still stung in his chest, and seeing their faces all smiling and cheerful was like rubbing salt into an open wound. Angry? Remorseful? Loving? Every one of these feelings flickered on his features for a moment, until he finally decided on one. Curiosity.
He reclaimed the pictures from Flora, handling them carefully, as though they were precious ornaments. Well, they were to him.
"I remember when this was taken," he almost smiled, showing her a photo of a young couple in the sea, a little boy sitting on the man's shoulders. "That was when we went down south, to this lovely little place near Cornwall. We used to go there a lot, and mum and dad would let me play in the sea we'd spend the whole day at the beach."
"You were the cutest little thing weren't you?" Flora cooed, unable to contain her "awww"s much longer. "You look so grown up now, like you're dad, but with your-"
"-With my mum's eyes, you said," he grinned sheepishly, feeling the blood threaten in his cheeks, "and please don't tell me I look grown up, you sound like my grandmother!"
"Cheeky sod!" The girl giggled, playfully slapping his arm, "I only said it again because I never noticed it before."
"What, how grown up and handsome I am, or that I have really girlie eyes?" He laughed, shoving her hand away, and flicking through some more of the photos.
"Oh this is me and mum when I was only a baby, Dad literally never stopped taking photos apparently," beaming, he held out the new picture to show her.
"I don't blame him, with a wife that beautiful and a son that adorable." Flora didn't even giggle this time, just murmuring with shining eyes.
"What went wrong, eh?" Clive laughed cheerily, the grin having swiftly returned to his lips.