The Writers' Circle

Terrible Loss
by
Gary Jarvis

Charlotte was curled up in the fetal position on her bed, sobbing. It was an uncontrollable urge to cry and had overcome her for more than ten minutes. She knew it was something that could never be replaced no matter what they said. Nothing could replace its soft warmth, its obvious love for her, the protection it gave her, it was an irreplaceable item. How could they say she would feel that again? She felt cheated its life snuffed out before its time. How could the world be so cruel? She asked herself over and over. Her whole body overcome with grief and guilt. It was all my fault. I should have taken it with me and not left it here. She told herself. No I should have shut the door that's all I needed to do. She got up and slammed the door angry she had not done so earlier, crying with the sea of emotions that engulfed her.
 
She stomped back over to the bed and run her hands over the tattered and shredded item, wishing with all her might that it would mend itself. Memories of its comfort flooded to the forefront of her mind bought in by the tide of her emotions. The memories spurred on a new downpour of tears and she knelt by the bed, holding her head in her hands. The door handle moved, a hand on the other side turning it clockwise to allow the door to open. It glided smoothly on its well oiled hinges and a tall man entered kneeling beside Charlotte and putting his arm around her. "There, there sweetheart. It will be ok I promise. We will get you a new one." The statement angered Charlotte and she spoke with tears and venom.
"I told you already. It can't be replaced it was one of a kind." She shouted as loud as her little, croaky, tear filled voice would allow.
"Calm down Charlotte it was just a." The man began to calmly respond, refusing to react to the angry Charlotte, before she interrupted. No it wasn't my fault it was his. She thought, as he had begun the sentence.
"Do not even finish that sentence. Get out and leave me alone. I hate you. If you had not let that cat stay in the house this would never have happened." The man felt the weight of Charlotte's words and left downhearted, he knew it was her temper talking but words like that hurt. He closed the door behind him and he felt shut out emotionally as well as physically.
 
Charlotte felt like she had been crying for years when her tears finally dried up. She had realised after her tears had finally stopped what she needed to do. She scooped up the remains of the highly sentimental valued item and put it in an empty shoebox. Then she closed the lid and taking out a felt tipped pen wrote in her neatest writing a little message. Finishing the message she put the pen away and exited her room. She then carefully walked down the stairs careful not to drop the box and saw the man appear at the bottom after she got about halfway down. "Are you ok?" He asked, concern emanating from his voice.
"Fine thank you." She said descending a couple more steps.
"What are you doing?"
"Moving on." She said sadly.
"Need a hand."
"Please."
 
The pair went out into the back garden, right to the bottom, and the man took a shovel to a well maintained flowerbed and dug a small hole for the shoebox. After he finished Charlotte dropped the box in and using her soft hands covered the hole with the soil and pattered it down firmly and taking a broken twig from an overhanging tree above planted it over the plot to mark the grave. "How do you feel?" The man asked opening his arms for Charlotte to enter.
"A little better." She entered and held onto him tight, as he lifted her into the air. "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"Being mean earlier. I love you really. Do you think we can get a new blanket, daddy?"
"Of course. Shall we go now?" Charlotte's dad said proud of his daughter for getting over her tantrum herself even though it was her most valued posession destroyed.

The End