The Truth

Chapter 2

It was the day of the funeral. I clutched my little brother's chubby hand with one of mine, and the locket around my neck with the other. I fiddled with it, weaving it around and around my fingers to keep me distracted. It had only been old age, it had been peaceful and painless, but how was he dead? The man I had known was so full of life and on the ball the whole time. He hadn't shown any sign of age. But nonetheless there I was, being marched through a farmer's field on a cold winter's day to his funeral, along with the whole village. He had been a big part in this little place, no matter how much the authorities hated it. He was more popular than them, which isn't saying much, to be honest. And, by default, my family were popular for the mere fact that he was related to and lived with us. So the authorities would have most probably faced a protest on their hands if they denied the villagers a free pass to his funeral.

"What would happen if we didn't go?" Joey, my 4-year-old brother, asked a little too loudly. He never did get on with our grandfather. He was too slow at playing tag for Joey's liking.

"Shhh, don't say that," Our mother, a tall blonde woman, warned. She was probably thinking the same thing as she didn't like my father's family. She always denied it, but Joey was obviously her favourite. With his curly, sandy blonde hair and deep brown eyes, he was the spitting image of her. I, with my long wavy dark brown hair, pale skin, and piercing green eyes, resembled my father. Ever since he had gone missing two years earlier, I could tell that she could hardly look at me anymore. Not that she had liked me much before hand. So just to annoy her, I took it upon myself to answer his question.

"They would probably get very angry, torture us and lock us up or worse," I cast a quick, condemning glance at one of the soldiers that lined the path holding a gun, and rubbed my nose to try and warm it up. It was always the first thing to loose heat, and it was very uncomfortable when it did.

"Don't scare him like that." She was always hyper-sensitive to Joey's feelings, and often projected her own onto him. But to be honest, he did look slightly disturbed.

"I wish you wouldn't be so over-protective of him, he's only like this because you try to sugar coat reality. You never did that with me and Bonnie. Tell me, what does he think a gun is? What does he think those people that were shot down had poring out of them? Where does he think grandfather's gone?"

"I learned from my mistakes, and I intend little Joey to be very happy in his life. And stop doing this. You're not his mother."

"I'm more of a mother to him than you are. And does that mean Bonnie and I are mistakes? That we don't deserve to be happy?"

"I chose the wrong words, but how very dare you question my abilities as a-"

"Be quiet!" Bonnie, my younger sister, hissed. She hated it when mother and I fought, even if mother was offending her and I defending her. She was a fiery ginger, and mature far beyond her 11 years.

"Did you hear what she was saying, Bonnie?" I retorted stubbornly, determined not to drop it.

"Yes I did. But this is grandfather's funeral. So be respectful for heavens sake!" This drew a warning glance from one of the lining soldiers, and she muttered an apology under her breath.

"I swear, one day I'll build a better life for us, Bonnie," I grumbled quietly, causing the same soldier to smile smugly as if he was going to prevent this from happening.

I rolled my eyes. They had no right to listen to our conversation. But then they had no right to do most of the things they did. They just did them. Who would argue?