“It’s grey,” Zara thought as she rested her gaze on the landscape before her, “why’s it so grey?”
She smiled wearily.
Zara had an old soul; she was mellow and kind but she was also haunted by unfulfilled dreams. She allowed the warmth from her cup to comfort her fragile hands. It was a sharp sensation – mixing the cold with heat, yet it gave her a sense of life, a feeling she wasn’t familiar with anymore.
“Mum…” Emeral said, softly placing her hand on Zara’s shoulder; “It’s time to go.”
Zara took a deep breath. She brushed her fingertips across the top of the tombstone and she glanced over at Emeral who had already began walking away.
“I wish it was me in there George, not you. It should’ve been me.”