Thє ℒαst Eɳтry (A Short Story) [PRIZE WINNING & PUBLISHED]

Chapter One: Her Tears

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves - always avoiding him like he was an EMBARRASSMENT to you! NO ONE ever appreciated him! Tommy ALWAYS tried so hard to fit in - to be someone YOU could be proud of. To this day, I will never understand why you all treated him so DIFFERENTLY!" I winced as Gran's shrill voice continued to climb in pitch, bordering on hysteric. Her frail body shuddered with her violent sobs.

"BUT NOW - now it's too late...He's gone...Gone forever..." "

Pain flashed across her ghostly face - a face that was once so blissful, now so weak and unrecognisable. She stared at me with her piercing icy blue eyes, which were filled with a sadness that made the pain wrap its snaky tendrils over my heart in an even tighter grasp.

Using all the strength she had left, Gran scrabbled in her pocket for a lacy handkerchief already drenched with tears - the tears of a mother grieving for the loss of her child.

She constantly rocked herself back and forth, her arms wrapped around herself for, I suppose, at least some kind of comfort in the midst of this tragedy. Where her white fingernails had dug into flesh of her upper arm, I could see small red crescents.

"Please Lord," she moaned softly to the carpet, "I beg of you. Please, please don't take him away like this...."

I looked away as another tear, like a sparkling diamond, rolled down her wrinkled face. Age had been kind to her so far. Sorrow, on the other hand, was as unforgiving as the bitter winter winds that howled outside.

I glanced over at Rose and her watery hazel eyes blinked back at me, helpless. Not knowing what else to do, she gave my hand a warm, reassuring squeeze. "He's in a better place now. There was nothing else we could have done," she murmured softly.

Was she trying to reassure my frail, grief stricken grandmother? Or me?

"NO. There was a lot that I could - no, should have done," I growled. Snatching my hand away from her, I stormed up the creaky stairs and through the musky floral-wallpapered hallway that since childhood, always seemed to have the scent of cinnamon.

I ignored Rose's pleads. "Andrew, please don't blame-"

BANG!

I dedicated this chapter to angel_126 for being so kind as to vote so many times and add my other short story, "Ma Cherie" to her reading list Favourites.