Our Bruised Bodies | Bradley Bradshaw

ACT FOUR - PART FIVE

Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!

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There was not a single cloud in the sky, making the walk on the open lawn in the sizzling heat almost unbearable, the heavy dark uniform he was wearing was itching.

He never thought he would be here, not for this. This was never meant to happen and yet it did. They just lost a good man. One of the very best, one that deserved a long and fulfilling life, because he was true and honourable and funny. He was a friend to everyone, and everyone liked him, even the people who hated him, secretly liked him. Bradshaw was just a likable guy, but for his family, he was so much more than that. For his friends too, his best friends.

Passing through the rows of white crosses, he reached out and let his fingers brush over one of them almost gently, before glancing over to where people were gathering for Bradshaw's funeral, people he called his friends. The tall aviator, moved down the back row of the people attending the funeral, easily spotting Tom Kazansky, Pete Mitchell and Ron Kerner, all in full uniform. They looked worse for wear, trying to school their expression. Trying desperately to control themselves, while Tom Kazansky couldn't take his eyes off the familiar blond woman he had been searching for since he had stepped foot into the graveyard.

She was standing there, all alone but still so strong in front of the coffin, holding onto a black umbrella before an unfamiliar man in uniform stepped over to her and handed her the folded flag, which made his stomach drop. He wished he could go over to her, hug her and hold her in his arm. He might even dare to promise her that things will stop looking all so gloomy one day, but he knew it would be a blunt and unkind lie. And despite him being known for being an asshole sometimes, he wasn't known for disrespecting a lady, the navy or being unkind. He was raised right after all.

He kept watching, even as someone stepped next to him and gazed at him which had him exhale lengthy and a bit annoyed, rather than following the funeral. He knew this would happen, knew he would turn up before long, because it always happened.

Maverick stepped forward, laying Bradshaw's wings he had been holding in his shaking hands onto the polished wood before hitting it to stick to it.

"You know, I never liked funerals, everyone is always so gloomy." The guy next to him said, which had the tall aviator glance at the man, only to find him holding a packet of chips. He looked back at the tall aviator next to him and had the audacity to wink, before thrusting his hand into the bag of chips and roaming around in it loudly.

"Pay some respect, they've lost someone they love." He warned the guy with the chips next to him, his voice low, as he gazed at him, before directing his gaze back at the blond woman standing in front of the coffin, the umbrella in place and not a sound to be heard from her. He wondered how women did it, how they were so strong, so unbending.

"Isn't it you, who lost someone he loved?" The guy asked again, which had the tall aviator pull his hat of his uniform further into his face and look over at the guy uncertain for a moment, before ducking his head slightly and moving through the crowd, muttering excuses as he had to push through the crowd of people, while the guy followed him, winking at some people as he walked past them.

"I don't know." The tall aviator muttered, as he stopped for a moment at the west end of the people attending the funeral to glance over at the blond woman standing there with her black umbrella, her expression as if set in stone. Strong and unbending. Behind her were Iceman Tom Kazansky, Maverick Pete Mitchell and Slider Ron Kerner, staring straight ahead. Perfect posture, and empty gazes.

"Ouch, now you wound." The guy said, knocking his back into the tall aviator's chest, as he dramatically pretended to faint, his hand clutching to his chest, as if he had been shot while he did his best not to let his bag of chips fall to the ground.