“Where are we going uncle?” Eleanor asked as she was swept slowly along with the crowd.
“To the memorial service” uncle answered not looking up.
“Why?” She asked holding up her sign just like the other excited children.
“Because you’re a good girl”
“Am I?” She asked.
“Yes you are” Uncle replied. “That’s why I bought you the backpack” he continued, his hand on her shoulder steering her through the crowd. “That is a very pretty sign Eleanor, did you do it all by yourself?” he asked.
“Mummy helped me make it” she said quite proud. She didn’t see Uncle very often since he moved away but he always bought her gifts when he visited.
He took her hand and lead her through the masses. There were so many people, more than she had ever seen before.
“I can’t see” she said jumping up and down, her view blocked by a tall man carrying a candle.
Uncle reached down, his hand snaked into her back pack. Leaning forward he whispered in her ear.
photo courtesy of Elaine Farrington Johnson
I feel rather tired of people being complete arse holes to other lately…