Short Story for English Tomorrow...

The door of the old country house creaked on its hinges before slamming shut behind her. In her hands she held the letter, the one that could change everything, and with utmost care, she proceeded to open it. Nevertheless, Mrs. Benson’s trembling hands let the piece of paper fall to the ground, not yet unfolded. She slowly bent down to retrieve it, sat down in one of the old kitchen chairs and began to read the letter from the military. When she had finished, she ran.

“Freddy!” she bellowed, her hair flowing behind her like a long, auburn river. Spotting him under an apple tree in the orchard reading in the morning sunlight, she ran over to her son pulled him up by the arm, looked him square in the eye and said, “They’re back.”

“P-p-pa?” he stammered. His mother just nodded quickly and pulled the six year old back to the decrepit house to get dressed. She put on her best dress and perfume, he, his best shirt and pants. Then they left, but only after she had wiped a smudge of dirt from his freckled face. She held him tightly at her side while they walked along the narrow road. This was the moment.

Fifteen minutes later they had arrived in the town, where a throng of women and children had already gathered. There were smiling faces and hugs and kisses being shared all around by reunited families. They searched continuously, pushing through men in uniforms and well dressed women until Mrs. Benson, holding her son’s hand, stopped to ask a passing woman, “Where might the others be?”

“Over there,” she replied quietly and solemnly, pointing over the heads of the families.

“Thank you.”

They headed off in the direction the woman had shown them, looking around constantly.

“What does daddy look like?”

She froze for a second before sighing and pulling Fred along. He had only been three when his father went off to war after all.

But then the mood around them changed, weeping replaced laughter and tears replaced smiles. Where had the woman directed them to? Suddenly they broke free from the crowd and a horrifying sight shocked Mrs. Benson. The lady had sent them to rows of coffins where those who didn’t make it lay. In complete denial, she began to walk away when Freddy broke free from her grip and ran to one of the wooden boxes.

“Char-lie B-en-son,” he muttered, his eyes fixated on one of the plaques on a coffin. At that moment his mother dropped to her knees by his side and began to weep. Fred tried to comfort her with the stroking of her hair but he couldn’t share her distress. He didn’t feel much distress. He could only watch her cry and wonder why.

Let me know what you think. I kinda' cut the end short. I'm terrible at expressing feelings so I left it at that...something I need to work on in my writing...