Status: In Progress
Someone, Somewhere
Prolong
The music was blaring as I pulled into the parking lot just the way I liked it. I played the same album every time I came here. It was my own personal mourning ritual. Birthdays bloody fucking suck. Aging fucking sucks, it all fucking sucks. I turned the car off, grab the faded black spiral bound notebook from the passenger side, and got out of the car walking the grounds I’ve been walking for more than twenty-eight years. No self respecting adult should be this familiar with graveyards. To be able to pass graves and recognize them and use them as land marks.
Landmark number one belongs to Agnes Francesca Holland November 1888 - August 1891. Little Agnes wasn’t alone for long her brother and her mum joined her soon after George Clarence Holland February 1883 - November 1891 and Mary Agnes Rhodes-Holland May 1866 - December 1891. Mary’s grave stone says somthin’ about sinking into her female fallibility God have mercy on her soul.
Landmark number two belongs to her father Clarence Wallace Holland 1860 - 1938 who was buried several feet away beside his second wife Maud (1874-1930) and several of their twelve children. It seemed in his afterlife Clarence didn’t want to be associated with his first wife or the two children he buried. I wonder sometimes if either of his wives realized what a wanker he was. I mean on dear old Maud’s gravestone he wrote, “Was a wife and mother like a woman should be.”
Yeah the Holland family and me have been friends for years. I mean I visit this place enough. This can’t be normal at all, most people who visit they spend hours trying to locate Great- Aunt Martha’s grave even though not a damn person in the family liked her. Not me, I know just where to go there is no getting lost for me.
I take a quick glance at the notebook in my hand as the graves I came for become clearer as I get closer. Three head stones all in a row all names of three people I had loved most in this world.
Kneeling in front of the newest grave that wasn’t so new, I took one more glace at the notebook. It had belonged to him, my brother in all but blood it would be going on forty-seven years if he had been alive. Twenty-six years since he’s been gone and I still don’t know how I’ve lived with out him all this time.
“Hey Mate how are you? The same I suppose yeah? You know Mate I’ve had this notebook for the past twenty-six years and I never looked inside. It was you business what was written in it. No one knows about this except the two of us you know. I’ve taken good care of it there’s no ripped out pages or nothing. Cover is still on it to.
Mate I’ve waited so long to know what the bloody hell was going through your mind before you died. Wanting to know if there was something, I could have done to change, you mind. Then again not wanting to know if this was my entire fault. But now mate … I just can’t let you keep your secrets anymore.” I paused for a moment as if waiting for the voice of my long dead friend to give his approval before flipping to the first page.
Taped to the front page with electrical tape was a picture of her.
It was a picture of Shannon his little sister.
Landmark number one belongs to Agnes Francesca Holland November 1888 - August 1891. Little Agnes wasn’t alone for long her brother and her mum joined her soon after George Clarence Holland February 1883 - November 1891 and Mary Agnes Rhodes-Holland May 1866 - December 1891. Mary’s grave stone says somthin’ about sinking into her female fallibility God have mercy on her soul.
Landmark number two belongs to her father Clarence Wallace Holland 1860 - 1938 who was buried several feet away beside his second wife Maud (1874-1930) and several of their twelve children. It seemed in his afterlife Clarence didn’t want to be associated with his first wife or the two children he buried. I wonder sometimes if either of his wives realized what a wanker he was. I mean on dear old Maud’s gravestone he wrote, “Was a wife and mother like a woman should be.”
Yeah the Holland family and me have been friends for years. I mean I visit this place enough. This can’t be normal at all, most people who visit they spend hours trying to locate Great- Aunt Martha’s grave even though not a damn person in the family liked her. Not me, I know just where to go there is no getting lost for me.
I take a quick glance at the notebook in my hand as the graves I came for become clearer as I get closer. Three head stones all in a row all names of three people I had loved most in this world.
Kneeling in front of the newest grave that wasn’t so new, I took one more glace at the notebook. It had belonged to him, my brother in all but blood it would be going on forty-seven years if he had been alive. Twenty-six years since he’s been gone and I still don’t know how I’ve lived with out him all this time.
“Hey Mate how are you? The same I suppose yeah? You know Mate I’ve had this notebook for the past twenty-six years and I never looked inside. It was you business what was written in it. No one knows about this except the two of us you know. I’ve taken good care of it there’s no ripped out pages or nothing. Cover is still on it to.
Mate I’ve waited so long to know what the bloody hell was going through your mind before you died. Wanting to know if there was something, I could have done to change, you mind. Then again not wanting to know if this was my entire fault. But now mate … I just can’t let you keep your secrets anymore.” I paused for a moment as if waiting for the voice of my long dead friend to give his approval before flipping to the first page.
Taped to the front page with electrical tape was a picture of her.
It was a picture of Shannon his little sister.
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This is as I said a prequel to Indigo Umbrella's amazing story.