The black horizon

The black horizon, a short story

Somewhere in Spain... June 18, 1894
The sound of cannon fire was deafening, as John stepped over the corpses of his comrades. Never had he been in a situation like this before, it was like something out of a story book or the tales his father told when he was a child.
Home.
To him Shropshire, England was home and he'd grown up on his family's farm, knowing no other life. But war, war was indescribably different. He could fight. He could threaten. He wouldn't kill.
He knew about war, he knew the weapons, the reasons, but before this he had not known the feelings. As soon as he hit 21 he'd been shipped to Spain.
It was dangerous, it was war, death imposing.
2 months into the siege, they were running out of food, weapons and men. It was hard long days setting canons and shifting the corpses of his comrades from dawn till dusk . He now knew what his father had gone through- what he had felt, it was like a mixture of sadness, homesickness, worry but more than anything, adrenaline, over the past couple of months John had found that knowing you could die any moment gave you a certain amount of thrill.
Shropshire, England... July 25,1894
"The rain is like my teardrops
Rolling down the window pane
I can't say I love you and
you can't say it back
The rain is like my teardrops
Rolling down the window pane
My heart is breaking
And only you can seal the crack"
This was all Arabella said as she curled up on the sofa reading over and over the letter she had just received. There was one quote that particularly stuck in her head, it read:

"I, corporel James Laithwaite, am afraid to have the job of telling you that your dearly beloved, mr John h. Fletcher was killed in battle, the date being the 29 of June, the year of our lord 1894"
He was gone... The man of her dreams, maybe even her soul mate... was dead. Taken by the devil in a fit of Rage... Later on the letter also stated they would get his body back at the beginning of August - also his favourite month- enabling them to have have a ceremony.

Shropshire, England ... 4 of August, 1894

It had all been so quick, before she knew it he had come back to her although not in a way which she had hoped. She had been a recluse, hidden away in the tower of her mansion where herself and John had come to see the stars many a time, it was also the place where he had proposed.

Shropshire, England... Later that day

She didn't know what she was thinking as she grabbed the body out of the casket - when the vicar was outside - taking the back door then charging down towards the beach.

the beach, Shropshire, England... Half an hour later

She sat on the beach, still, quiet as the waves of the grey water lapped against her, the sand blew in her face. She had promised him she would never leave his side. there she was sat on the sand, in a satin white dress holding his dead, motionless body tight to her chest as his iron red blood washed into the sea.

Slowly she rose up from the waves and walked out until she was waist deep in the water. She took one arm off his body, took the sword out of his scabbard and thrust it into her heart and collapsed into the swirl of the ocean as the rain began to pour and the sun had set below the black horizon.