For several days, things seemed to be back to normal. They ate breakfast and dinner together and Mitch even met her for lunch once. Rosanna felt a chill around him, a barrier that stopped her from reaching out to him or kissing him. The weather changed and she noticed a haze of little green buds across the park. She began to feel her mood lighten with every morning walk. She was given a manuscript by an unknown author that stirred her emotions and piqued her imagination so much she thought she might enjoy this job after all.
Then she got a call from Sabrina and her whole life fell apart.
It had been a hard winter in England. The school encouraged all children to take part in outdoor activities, particularly cross country and hare and hounds, also known as paperchase, in the surrounding countryside. Will was not a sporty boy, preferring to read and draw. Despite that, he had been doing well, sticking with the frontrunners in his year and winning a cup for his form. He had been so proud when he called Rosanna. But one freezing cold March afternoon, one of the hares took the wrong route and, before the sports master or the other boys could warn him, Will had run up a steep ridge, probably thinking he was ahead when he was the only boy up there. Nobody knew he was missing until the master counted the boys in. He organised a search party, but it was too dark, and they missed Will’s little body hidden in the gorse. The next morning, with a bigger search party, including police and dogs, they were too late.
Rosanna imagined her little boy out there in the freezing cold night, with only stars for company. How long was he conscious? Was he in pain? Did he call for her? The knot in her chest returned, tight and painful. She had no feeling in the rest of her body, her head rang as if a blacksmith was hammering on her anvil of a brain. She did not have the strength to call Mitch. She just sat in the apartment, staring at the park in all its greenery.
That sounds like a badly supervised cross country race. When I was young I ran in cross country races and there were guides at every deviation to ensure no-one got off the track.
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I’ve seen some stinkers in my time, Robin!
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How unfortunate about Will! Because cross country is such a delightful event to participate in. But I can imagine an unfortunate incident like Will’s happening, even when the event is well supervised.
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Thanks for your comments, Khaya. We did cross country at school, but it was on the outskirts of London, no hills or paths to get lost on.
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Oh no! Tell me it isn’t so!
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I’m sorry.
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Intriguing.
Happy Sunday Kim
Much❤love
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And you, Gillena ❤
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Say whuuuuut?
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I know. I’m cruel. Who was it who said ” in writing you must kill all your darlings”?
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Oh, no! That poor child. And that poor mother. I was not expecting this. I shall try not to bite my nails to the quick while I wait for the next installment.
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So sorry to upset you, Magaly.
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Don’t be silly! I’m always grateful for a story that feels real enough to affect my emotions. So, keep bringing it!
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🙂
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How devastating. Maybe the next installment will be happier. Makes me wonder.
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I’m pleased that you’re so engaged with the story, Debi.
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NO NO NO NO! I cannot bear it. Tears streaking my cheeks.
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I’m sorry my story made you cry, Helen. 😓
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0__0
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“Rosanna imagined her little boy out there in the freezing cold night, with only stars for company. How long was he conscious? Was he in pain? Did he call for her?” She will have those thought recurring forever, probably also in recurring dreams for quite some time. I wish I had known that my mother blamed herself for the 1918 flu epidemic death, she had brought it home from school. I still also have a boyhood experience that gives me that same blame, I don’t talk about it hardly ever. I think that type thinking will be your heroine’s next phase, it will last and last. Perhaps Mom and I could be of help to each other.
Congratulations also for completing the April run. This might be my last year but then I say that too each year (since 2015).
..
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Mom died in 1999. She was born in 1911.
..
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She lived a long life, Jim, and you still miss her. I miss my mum too.
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Thank you, Jim. I imagine there are many people who have blamed themselves during our current pandemic. I too blame myself for something in the past. Writing is the way I try to lay my ghosts.
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oh no, i hope Rosanna will not blame herself for her son’s tragic accident. i can’t wait for the next episode.
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I love that you are involved in the story! There are still a few more episodes to go – and then something completely different.
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That is a harsh punishment. (K)
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