words kept close and spoken in the dark [POETRY - Completed]

Safety/Security - ORIGINAL PROSE

Alternate title; A Snapshot of Edith Brown's Life

'You'll never feel as bad as you do now, you, you'll never feel as good as you do now.'

These are the words that rung through my head like a church bell – a strange contradictive statement, and yet it seemed to have a calming effect, as if the mere action of sitting in the House of God seemed to provide the warm embrace of safety and security that I needed in this rough time.

With my head bowed and my eyes closed, a few loose strands of hair fell beside my cheek, brushing my skin gently. Instinctively, I tucked it back behind my ear before returning my hands to their former position – a simple prayer, clasped together to ask for hope, mercy and forgiveness. The thought crossed my mind that I should cut my hair shorter, perhaps, or tie my hair back more securely, but the past few months had been as hectic and painful as they could be – other matters took priority over vanity.

My brother Michael was sat beside me, I had opened my eyes briefly to check on him – this action had been repeating itself for around ten minutes now, it seemed almost as instinctive as tucking those loose strands of hair out of sight – and he looked to be lost in his thoughts; his eyes, the same dark brown as my own, were red and bloodshot from crying, his hands not clasped in prayer like my own but left hopelessly on his lap, and his hair, a deep black compared to my own light brown, which only helped to add to his resemblance of our father, whilst I took after our mother, was a mess – he hadn't been able to sleep this past week; his dreams haunted him, his memories of our father's passing were playing over and over again in his head like a movie projector. I reached over – releasing my hands from their usual prayer position, I assumed the Good Lord wouldn't be offended, it was in good nature to comfort one's neighbour during times of hardship – and took hold of his hand firmly, a smile resting across my face. He broke from his trance, he didn't seem to recognize me for a moment, his eyes revealing a state of panic for a moment before relaxing when he realized it was only me. He returned my smile, before shifting his glance to the wooden crucifix that rested on the wall, the podium partially obscuring our view from the pews. Our community church was simple, and we preferred it that way.

"Do you think he's in a better place, Edith?"

"I'm sure of it, Brother. You will never find a more hard-working man, a more committed man to his family and community, a more devout man in our time and all time to pass." And I believed every word.

He seemed to take comfort in this, but grief seemed to be overwhelming him – tears fell, cries of sorrow stumbling over incoherent words. I held him and let him cry on my shoulder, attempting to calm and soothe his grieving cries.

When he ceased, for a moment, and composed himself, wiping his tears and straightening his back, I patted his shoulder reassuringly, before we both returned to our prayers, for we knew in our pain and hardship, our faith would remain strong and give us the strength to greet each day with a smile – our Lord would be our strength, our happiness, our light.