Heaven Hasn't Forgotten About You

I was without a care in the world until I opened the envelope. I felt as if I was artificially pumped with adrenaline as I ripped the brown paper open. Just as the excitement was about to bubble over, the slow beating of my heart began to become louder and louder, eventually dulling all my senses as I slumped onto the sofa. The haunting black print was scripted so beautifully twisted, engraved into my eyelids.

“We regret to inform you that Liam Harwood was killed in battle at 11:23 on the morning of Friday 25th November 2011, by an enemy force during combat.” As I read them again and again, over and over, as if I was on my own death bed, my life with him, our life ran flashing before my eyes.

I was seven years old, having lived in that same orphanage my entire life. I was one of the very few younger children who didn’t get taken. I blamed my dad, whoever he was, he got me stuck in this place and now because he’s a bad person, I have to stay here. I stomped my feet as I made my way to the commotion at the front door. Eager to see the new kid, yet angry because he would just be whisked away by the grownups because he was cute, small and just right for adoption.

The new kids always had it rough, getting shoved in here after losing everything. I never went through it, having never known my extremely young mother and my big bad wolf of a father who had to serve more years than I could count on my fingers, in jail.

 This kid was weird. His massive eyes seemed to pop out of his chubby little face, the leafy green darting around to each face before him. He didn’t wail and cry, like every other new kid. He just stood there, analyzing everything around him with those wondrous green eyes.

“Hi everyone! My name is Liam Harwood. My dad said that when I come here, I shouldn’t come crying because that’s not was men do. He was in the army, he was!” He gave us all a goofy, toothless grin and I could tell that everyone else was just as shocked as I was as not a word was said to the mysteriously enthusiastic kid. The first ever time I heard him speak.

The rush of memories carried on as it seemed to fast forward a couple of years, and there I was, standing next to him on our first day of secondary school. Our hands clasped together as we stared at the two massive older boys before us, grabbing at each other, throwing one another around.

The other children around us were yelling and clapping their hands, laughing at the scene.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” They chanted, and soon enough we joined in, understanding how funny it was when the bigger of the two boys sat on the other boy, making him groan in pain and protest.

So caught up in the fun of the situation, we were blinded from the wrong. We didn’t realize the other kids were gradually leaving. It was only when we saw the click-clacking black heels of the head mistress that we were brought back to our mature senses.

“Ah. New year sevens.” She said politely, but I could sense a little bit of distaste in her words. “Chloe” she said to an older student passing by. “Could you please direct these two year sevens to their classes? I think they’re lost.” Then she turned to the two boys who were caught fighting.

“Okay.” The girl said in monotone. Then she looked at us. “Timetables.” We rushed into our massive back packs to look for our planners with our timetables in, as Chloe just rolled her eyes and stared down the hall.

“You’ve got French first.” She pointed to a staircase and we nodded quickly.

“Um… thank you.” Liam said before scurrying away to our first class. I was never a talker. He was confident, full of talent and outspoken, but I was shy and silent. We completed each other like that. He spoke and fought for us, and I just stood on the sidelines like a damsel in distress. He was comfortable and fit in everywhere he went, with his outgoing behavior and sociable personality. Meanwhile, I was the uncommunicative, unattractive girl who no one really wanted to talk to.