Spring Affairs

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INTRODUCTION

The day my father died was the day everything had dawned upon me. It didn't feel real, the mere thought of my father lying in a casket in front of me literally scared me to death. My mother, Lucille died when I was three. In all honesty, there isn't much that I remember about my mother. Just her short mousy-brown hair and her over-sized green sapphire shaped eyes that had caramel coloured specks in them. She was beautiful.

I used to think that I could smell her perfume on my pillow at night a few months after she died, as if she was there hugging me, wiping away tears and telling me everything would be alright. But I was only three, I never really knew that she'd be gone forever, I just thought she was sleeping. Now almost 14 years later I was at my dad's funeral, only difference is that I'll actually remember it all. Every detail of this over-published facade.

I suddenly felt a calloused hand grip my knee firmly making me gasp. Looking up, I had realised it was only my grandfather who was now looking down at me with sad wearied eyes. I gave him a sad smile knowing that it was soon going to my turn to deliver a speech. Just being here felt almost insufferable. Everywhere around me was just grey and murky.

Their faces pale in remorse,If my dad were alive today, could see this he could say it was a fail in epic proportion. Every day of his life he'd say something like "Smile like it's your last day because you never know what's going to happen tomorrow. Never live in regret -- I wouldn't be surprised if I die laughing." He'd say in a hearty chuckle.

But that was just the type of guy my dad was. Rarely angry, always happy. He truly lived like it was his last day. Suddenly, i felt hot fresh tears trickle down my cheeks. Oh gosh, I missed him.

"Aimee, it's time for you to make your speech," My grandfather whispered tapping me with the eulogy in his left palm. I nodded standing up and pulling down my short-ish black dress and traditional veil. I made my way up to the podium looking down upon what was left of my family, I felt a sharp pang in my heart as I uncrumpled a short speech from my pocket. 

Deep Breath, Aimee, speak what's in your heart, not your mind.

 

I could almost swear I could hear my dad speak to me, I shook my head of any thoughts and tapped the microphone before shakingly opening up my mouth and looked out into the crowed.

"I'm Aimee chambers, daughter to Jonathan Chambers. If anyone had thought of my dad they'd instantly think of his sickeningly sweet smile and his hearty sense of humor. Y'know, that guy who no matter what you had said to him would never give up on you, never say anything bad about you. He was pure hearted," I wipped a tear from the corner of my eye.

"I remember him taking hold of my shoulders when I was 11 and I had a massive crush on a guy, Drew Chambers. I thought we were destined to be together because I wouldn't have to change my name." Everyone gave a short chuckle, "He told me that someone, someday will be the right one and be the reason why it never worked out with anyone else, but until then he'd always be there for me and that i was his one and only."

I looked back at the casket with a shaky sigh. "I love you, Papa. He'd also never want anyone crying so much over him. Made him feel weak I guess..." My voice trailed on as my practical grandma stood up on stage in her bright sparkly dress. She was my idea of Betty White, just a few years younger. Her warm eyes glanced upon me, staring at me as if she knew I'd break down and cry in front of everyone before I even knew myself.

~ ℘ ~

"Aimee, get up, dear."

It was my grandfather calling me downstairs, I was curled up in fetus position on my old bed, the scratch of the burlap-like sheets scratched violently against my cheeks as I breathed in that old smell. Pine-cones and mint. Standing up, I walked over to the mirror and pushed down my black dress from the funeral.

I hadn't taken it off yet, I had managed to fall asleep before unclothing. I frowned looking at my palened face, my black-ish brown hair clinging on helplessly to my face, my blue eyes (that I had inherited from my dad) still looked over-sized but had massive bags carved under them, my nose was a harsh rose. My cheeks were tear stains and my rose coloured lips were chapped. In other words, I looked absolutely disgusting.

"I'm coming, grandpa!" 

I quickly scampered across the room scavenging for any old jogging bottoms and a large t-shirt that I could find that I probably had left the day they had told me I was moving out of my old house and to my grandparents that just happened to live in Enfield which unfortunately was on the opposite side of the Thames and I had been living in Bexley. I sighed once again slowly pushing off my black backless dress and felt it fall and gather at the floor then slipped on the spare black Pineapple Dance Studios jogging bottoms and a black camisole top that had 'babe' written across the bust in a faded lettering.

I started to exit my room after I grabbed my fathers handmade blanket that my mother had knitted for him, sewn on it was a couple of my dads worn shirts and a few sayings that I knew he would've said with his ignorant grin.

"Grandpa?" I mumbled peaking my head from around the sage coloured walls not out of embarrassment but for some reason I was almost too shy to go see him. I hadn't seen him in 5 years, yes due to the fact that Papa was always busy, but still. Grandpa took off his farmers cap showing his thick messy white hair that just stopped at his faded green eyes.

"Don't be shy, Aimee," Grandpa flung his arm over his head gesturing me to sit before him, I pouted but sat in one of my dad's handcrafted chairs. Papa always said the best chairs are ones you make yourself unless you get a splinter in your butt, he was weird like that but he was also my best friend. I pushed a curtain of my blachkish brown hair behind my ears and out of my eyes. My hair wasn't the average length of most girls, mine was just a few inches above my bum. I didn't want it cut, Papa once said that Ma admired my long hair and would spend ages combing it through. I didn't remember it though.

"Now, Aimee, Bexley isn't like Enfield, you'll do good to remember that."

I nodded then I saw a grey eyed boy with brown hair, his lips pressed into a thin line once he realised I had seen him from the shadows of the teal kitchen. He pulled a chair and timidly sat by Grandpa, his eyes on the floor the whole time. Wrapping the blanket around my body tighter, I couldn't help but feel naked in his presence. Heck, I didn't even know the guy for crying out loud.

"This," Grandpa griped onto the young man's shoulder firmly, "is Peeta Chapsbourgh, he's your neighbor."

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The story is being edited by HappyHippoPot.

 A/N: PLEASE STOP COMPARING THIS TO HUNGER GAMES. THE CHARACTER OF "PEETA CHAPSBOUGH" WAS NOT INSPIRED BY  THE BOOK/MOVIE.