Shards of a Diamond (WarriorsFest Entry)

I had always assumed when someone you loved died, you would feel something. A sharp intake of breath, a longing for them to come back but they never do. Maybe I figured I would feel an aching pain over my heart. I guess I once thought these things because it’s easier to think them. It’s better to assume you know what happened than to not know at all. Ignorance is not bliss.
I also watched it happen first hand, when the baker’s daughter died. Her name was Silvia. She was about my age and had long curly red hair. She had the most vibrant green eyes. Pretty. But that is all I knew about her. I know I should wish I had gotten to know her better before she died, but I don’t. I just don’t.
One morning as I was walking to the bakery I saw Silvia was about to leave. The baker emerged from the door way, blocking my path into the small building with the most savory smells in town. I waited politely as they said their goodbyes. As Saliva turned to go she stopped and turned to face her father. He opened his arms and she fell into them without hesitation. I never knew them to be close, but I also felt I was invading their privacy.
“Goodbye,” she whispered. And that was the last anyone in our small town saw her.

Death is cruel. It rips the ones you love, in an instant, right before your eyes. Death is sick. Maybe your loved one died in a slow agonizing pain. You would take their pain away in a heartbeat if you could, but of course you can’t because death is unfair. But then again, it doesn’t have to be fair does it? It doesn’t have a ruler so why should it oblige to moral rules? Even if it does have a ruler, I’m not sure I would want to meet him.
Anyone who tells you death is fair is a liar. Death shouldn’t have power over you, it shouldn’t be able to control you. It doesn’t have the right to snatch the ones you love away from you, but it does anyway. Death is cruel. Death is sick. Death is unfair.
Yet, it is peaceful, even tempting and inviting. But I warn you, never fall for death’s promises. They never come true. Keep fighting, in the end it is worth it.
For those of you that do not know me, my name is Rosa. Some do call me Foxglove but let’s not dwell on that. This is my story, my dreaded story.

“Rosa, wake up!” I hear my mother howl from downstairs. I set my gaze on the fractured window seeing it was barely dawn. Not wanting to anger my mother, today, I rise out of bed and head over to my chest of draws.
When I open the second draw my father’s shirt is the first thing my eyes lay upon. I lift it to my nose, trying to find a trace of his sent. It wasn’t there. It reminds me how much I miss him all the more.
I sigh and place the shirt back down in its rightful place. I hurriedly put on a pair of trousers and a leather vest as I hear mother cursing from downstairs. The last thing I want to see is mother’s temper. Still I hear her bellow, “Rosa get down here now! I need you to help me with the dishes”.
Instantly I wince and fly down the rickety stairs, jumping over the third step because the board was missing. It had been missing ever since I could remember.
I can feel my mother’s disapproval even before I look at her. “Why are you dressed like that?” she hisses. “I have already spoken to you about this.” She gestures at me with her hand. “Why are you dressed in men’s clothing? How do you expect to get married in men’s clothing? You will never, ever dress like this again, do you understand me?”
I avoid looking her in the eye and keep quiet; I refuse to answer her. Not out of defiance. No, I am trying to keep from angering her any further. “Well answer me,” she spits.
I look at her, for the first time this morning, and wish I didn’t. Her hair was un-brushed and devilish, her eyes wild. She had been like this ever sense father had died in the war. That’s another thing I wish had never happened, the war.
“Maybe I don’t want to get married,” I reply barely over a whisper. That just earned me a smack to the face.
“Ha, you foolish girl! Do you think you can take care of yourself? Surly you do not, you’re worthless,” Her eyes are cold. “You’re fifteen, practically a woman, and you should start acting like it. Now, go to your room and dress into something more… Appropriate.” I clench my fist and head back upstairs.