~|The|girl|in|the|rose|field|~
The young girl raced around the field of roses. Her mother had died just a few months prier and though the girl was only seven, she knew her father wasn't coping well. So most days after coming home from the small primary school a few miles down the road, her older brother, by four years, would take her out to the rose field to try to keep her away from the kind man who had turned into a drunken mess. She had noticed though, for even with her lack of years she was an extremely observant person. She tried her hardest to pretend to have not noticed the drastic change, yet things that have been seen can no be unseen. Still she had night terrors of the night her mother had died. So she ran, her brother chasing her somewhat behind, she giggled and laughed, each one seeming less forced then the last, for if she could laugh again, then maybe, one day, her family could be like before; happy.
