Wasp

Chapter One: The burial

He dragged the body out of the derelict house and into the garden. The body was that of a young woman's, early twenties, fair skin and long ginger hair. Her peircing blue eyes stared up into the sky as James prepared the grave, a hole in the ground. He sighed and gently lifted the woman up and into the hole. He then closed her eyes gently and layed a cloth over her face. She was clutching a bunch of white and yellow flowers, which were dying slightly but had somehow survived in this wasteland. She lay still, unmoving in a beautiful but eerie silence, it wasn't right, none of this shit was right. James held back tears.

James exhaled, he had been staring at her corpse for what felt like a lifetime.
"Say hello to mum for me" James said, his voice breaking slightly as he felt tears gently trickle down his cheek.
"I won't forget you sis, I ain't gonna do that" he continued, unable to speak properly, his accsent appeared to be stronger now, a cockney accent, where he'd got it from no-one knew, but, where you were from wasn't important at these times. He stared up at the sky, he felt a cold drop of rain splash onto his nose, fortunately, it diddn't burn like acid rain would. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together as if he were to be praying. He then carefully stood up and put on the leather hat he'd always worn.

James grabbed a large rusty shovel that was leaning on a empty log shed. He respectfully nodded to his deceased sibling as if to say it 'would be ok' or even 'you will be better soon' and he proceeded to shake the dirt across her body.

Around an hour later he was finally done, the soil patted down in a heap and an arrangement of stones around it. A wooden gravestone lay at the end of the grave, Jane Greens, it read. The letters were roughly carved out by what looked like a hunting knife which made the letters rather messy and jagged but alas, it was the best James could've done for her.

He lay a singular flower on the grave, slung his bag over his shoulder and rubbed a final tear away from his face. He was done with this shithole, he couldn't be here anymore, he didn't want to be here anymore. James's black army boots made a sort of click clack as he walked along the cracked remains of a road. He looked up at an engraved sign above him which read, "you are leavi-" the rest was cut off, but James knew that whatever that sign said was true. He was leaving, to find something, to find himself.