I knew my day was coming. I planned it just as I wanted it. But there’s always some family drama erupting around my eldest. What’s he gone and done now? I can’t quite make it out but my Beryl is wagging that finger again. Such a sagacious woman, taking no nonsense from any of them.
A tear trickles down my sallowed cheek as a susurrus of her name escapes my dry lips, hoping it’ll reach her like a gentle kiss on her heavily rouged cheek. She’s sitting proud, ignoring the ennui surrounding her from her own flesh and blood. I wish I could clip my boys right round the ear for their lack of respect; not to me, but their mother.
The stentorian voice of the vicar, belying his doddering frame, makes me jump as it rings in my head; ironic how his words of love are splitting my skull. Sod this for a game of soldiers. As soon as Beryl bids her last, I’m off. Just as long as there’s none of that ululating. My sister’s one for that but she’s keeping it together.
I smile, surveying my life below. Not too bad, Sydney, not too bad at all.
So pleased this flash fiction is back! I loved this. Makes you think and is highly creative. xxx