The boy stepped forward, unable to comprehend with his five-year-old mentality. He reached his hand out to touch the cold metal, before it was lowered into the snow-covered terrain. The preacher looks down sympathetically towards the poor youngster.
His mother softly kisses the coffin, and steps back as a tear gently runs down her face. She glanced around out of habit, trying to find her usual shoulder to cry on. He wasn’t there. The violence in Iraq had taken a husband, a father, and an amazing man.
The car ride home was filled with silence, and heavy with thought. Memories of (the mother)’s husband and (the son) making snowmen while decorating the house for Christmas ran through her head. It was then that it truly hit her that her husband was truly gone and was not coming back. That her son’s loving father was not going to be there to watch him stumble down the steps on Christmas morning, and watch his eyes light up as he sees all the gifts (which might now be fewer with less income in the house). She thought her sweet child deserved better than that.
1 comment:
Good beginning. This is a good structure for a story. Now you need to go in and fill in the details. The focus on peace is also not clear.
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