Random Writing #9 - Wasteland

The boy kneeled in front of the smooth black tombstone in his grey shorts and sports coat, socks pulled up to the knees. She watched him, unmoving, for long minutes as he whispered to the grave. Finally he removed something small from his pocket that shone in the late afternoon sunlight; a tin toy of some kind. The boy stood, capped his hat on his head and stalked off toward the road with that curiously purposeful gait of a five year old boy, head and shoulders bent forward, short legs marching off to war. She watched him go as a motorcar sped along the hilly dirt road through the heath.

 

She stood in the shade of a scraggly and dwarven tree, the only one in miles of golden scrub. The wind pulled at her scarlet and black trimmed dress. He will understand someday, she though. He will. She stepped forward to the spot where the boy had been and looked at the tombstone, laughing feebly at the inscription: Devoted husband and father. Something glinted in her hands as she dropped to hear knees. Her left hand clutched a handful of scrub to brace herself as the other hand stabbed repeatedly at the earth with a thick bladed knife. Tears grew in the corners of her eyes and made her eyeliner begin to drip down her face. They were not tears of  remorse.

 

She left the knife blade deep in the earth and picked up the little tin soldier that had been left behind, holding it tightly in her gloved hand.