Holly

Holly did not go with the rest after the funeral.  Not that there were many, but they just did not seem to matter.  They would get over it, they would adapt and survive.  But Holly felt numb and cold inside, like ice and loss were eating the extremities of her soul.  Outside the car the air was frigid and lifeless.  The remnants of the morning's frost clung to the grass in the valleys and hollows.  She had made no conscious decision about where she would go.  She had left the village and it's small church behind, along with the newly-filled grave that contained her heart.  He had joked about it at the time.  He had said he wouldn't let some disease drag him down, but in the end it did.   He had even smiled up at her when his last breath left his chest, though the unshed tears in his eyes revealed his sorrow.  His friends and family would be in the pub by now, trying to be cheerful and remembering past events and old times.  But Holly did not want memories, she wanted him back, and she knew that was impossible.

Holly raised a pale hand to wipe at the tears clinging to her cheeks.  With a start she realised she had parked the car in a layby.  From either side of the road large oak trees reached out across to each other, their naked winter branches grasping over the divide.  Opening the car door, Holly steped outside.  Her black suit provided little protection against the chill but Holly was oblivious and did not notice as the goosebumps grew on her arms.  As she looked around a dim sense of recognition flickered inside her.  Walking past the car she made her way to a wooden stile set in the fence beside the layby.  Without thinking she climbed over the stile, heedless of the marks the rotting wood made on her clothes.  Leading through the trees, Holly followed a dirt path.  As she walked, her feet cracked the ice on small pools of water and a slight breeze tugged at her lank auburn hair.  She had followed the path for almost half a mile when it veered abruptly to the right and began to head downwards into a small gorge.  All the time Holly was filled with thoughts of him and how he had been taken away.  He hadn't deserved it, but he had never even complained.  He had said there were people worse off than him and he'd had a good life.  Before he had got too ill he had ran for charity.  He said it would not help him but maybe he could help others with the same condition.  

Only half aware, Holly stumbled on.  As the path got steeper, she kicked off her heeled shoes, muddying the soles of her feet.  As she reached the bottom of the gorge, the path grew increasingly overgrown.  Dimly, she felt a hawthorn branch tear at her leg and a crimson trickle of blood slid down to her ankle.  Reaching up, Holly pushed away a yew bough and pressed on.  And stopped.  Momentarily she stared at her surroundings.  She was at the bottom of a narrow gorge, steep tree-clad sides hiding a grassy glade through which ran a glistening brook full of icy water.  The brook was fed by a small waterfall before it disappeared into the trees at the far end of the glade.  At the base of the waterfall was a deep, glassy pool.  From the back of her mind Holly saw images fof her childhood, laughing, playing.  In this very glade.  It seemed so very far away, like a dream that fades upon waking up and leaves you grasping for the memory, except the memory flows from your mind like water from a clenched fist.

Walking towards the waterfall, Holly's bare feet softly crunched the frost upon the grass.  Tiny flecks of blood from her ankle became rubies as her wound brushed against the ice.  Holly knelt beside the pool and rested her hands upon the earth, staring into the water.  She saw her life progress from her childhood into her becoming an adult, meeting him, living with him, experiencing his tenderness, his love.  Then she saw the disintegration of both their lives, the illness killing him and extinguishing her love of living.  Idly, Holly began trailing a hand through the water at the edge of the pool, her tears streaming down her face.  As she wept, the light of day began to fade from the gorge.  Mist began to gather and one by one the stars lit up the evening sky and still Holly wept.  Numb to the cold, she lay on her side and looked up at the sky.  By now the moon had risen and gave an eerie light to the glade.  Beautiful in its etherealness and yet so cold, Holly began to feel drowsy as her temperature dropped and icy fingers closed around her limbs.  Still thinking of him, Holly's eyes flickered and closed as frost formed on her eyelashes and her tears froze on her face.