As the sun sets back behind the row of old mangled spruce trees. They really haven’t been the same since that last wind storm. It just blew through here like a god damned menace. Took half the shingles off the west side of the fucking barn. It was absolutely mental. You really couldn’t even hear yourself think, for the howl of the wind and the screach of twisting fensing. God, what an awful mess the last few weeks have been.
The last few moments of mottled sunlight pierce my eyes like Knives. “You know, mum really loves this view because of those trees. You remember how fucking mad she was when dad tried his hand at pruning them…”. My younger brother is standing beside me, dressed in a drab grey suit, clinging to his coffee cup, like it’s a life raft in a raging river. It’s cold, icy black waters threatening to swallow him whole. Pull him underneath, drag him down in the fast flowing current. I turn away from the view, it’s the same stretch of lawn I’d known for as long as I can remember. Turning my back to my brother, I cross the room, it’s somber dressing a reminder that things have changed. Nothing is the same, even as everything here is the same. Stopping at the door I say “It was a nice service. Food was a bit shit, for what they charged us… Bastards”. Twirling around, as though jolted out of his revere, my brother quips ” And what’s up with the vicar, what a thick fuck he is. Got her bloody name wrong, twice!”.
The sun has totally disappeared behind the stand of trees, the farm is that strange mix of dark but also still light out. The carpet smells a bit musty. There is cigarette smoke lingering on the walls, embedded in the paint, like so many other things left unsaid.
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