The sun lowered on the horizon, streaks of indigo and crimson threshed the afternoon

sky. A solitary sunflower swayed in the breeze, boasting it blooming yellow colour;

without a care in the world, just swaying about in the winds gentle breath.

After aimlessly wandering I hopped off my bed lethargically and left my bedroom. I

entered the hallway, a sweet, crisp and tantalising smell wafted through the fresh air.

It seemed unusual for our house; it was always squalid and often smelt quite putrid,

thanks to my brothers and their repugnant antics. I peered into the kitchen watching

my mother intently, busily bustling about, attending to pots, pans; you name it she

was preparing a banquet. I watched her, cooking with such alacrity, attempting to

please us all and being thanked with a few words of gratitude. I feel sorry for my

mother; she doesnt often smile, always slaving to complete domestic duties without

any help or company. My father would often be absent for long periods of time, with

his training and all. The only company she really had was my grandmother, shes

rather a cantankerous old wizened woman who constantly condemned my mothers

style of raising my brothers and I. Fools those children are, they know nothing about

Britains history, I dont even know why you bother, she would continually say with a

digressed tone. She was one of a kind my grandmother, she though highly about her

homeland and her patriotism was admirable. I left silently in search of my recalcitrant

young brothers; they were usually mucking outside the house, being typical vigorous

young boys. I walked towards the front porch in search of them, they came rapidly

from around the house panting madly, and within a flash they were at it again,

disappearing around the corner of the house.

Things seem so much easier when you are younger; you are free of any burden, much

like a sunflower in the summers breeze. I turned to see my grandmother, still as ever

with that reminiscent grim expression. Rocking backwards and forwards, continuing

her afternoon exercise. Its quite riveting to watch her. Even though her personality

constitutes of layers of ignorance interspersed with annoyance. Yet her physical

appearance is remarkable. She transcends time, with this feature of no emotion; folds

of wrinkles that display a solid, stern looking face. She displays this charisma that

bewilders you. Then you start to question what really goes on deep within the rusted

and battered vaults inside her head.

It seems affable to be old. Death is imminent, so life is just a breeze no hassle just

living. I wonder sometimes whether I could just live. Seems an unusual thing to say

really, but honestly Im not living, just doing. Life serves some purpose, so it should

be enjoyed. Thats possibly why grandma stays with us, she really cant be wasted. It

would seem extremely slack on our part being her family and all. I cant comprehend

activities where life is just wasted. What purpose does it serve?

The aromatic smell of roasted chicken drew me back inside the house. I proceeded to

the dining table hastily. My stomach was churning for nourishment and the rich

delight of the food on the table would satisfy it pleasingly. As I entered the dinning

room the smell overwhelmed me, fresh herbs and spices coalesced to provide the air

wit this stunning fragrance of indulgence. The table was lavishly set. A plethora of

food was laid on the table. Two centred candles provided the room with dim lighting

that created this sensual atmosphere. I pulled the chair back slowly and sat down. It
was cold. We rarely sat together at the table, eating was an activity we seemed to

perform in solitude. I waited patiently, relishing the moment.

The high pitched tone reverberated around the house, instantly causing a hush. It was

my mother calling everyone to the dining room. My brothers entered like pigs waiting

to grub their faces into a trough. Their faces were distinctly covered in mud, and a

rather fetid smell came from their clothes. My mother soon arrived, her face shining

with pleasure. She settled herself at her seat and begun serving food on to a plate. She

handed two crowded plates of food to my piggish brothers.

My fathers footsteps could be heard as he marched down the rickety staircase. He

arrived seconds later. He was an extremely built man, his toned muscles and physique

mirrored a true body of an athlete. Those iridescent hazel eyes gave him the death

stare of a vulture. His narrow face and luscious lips reflected the flamboyant character

of the man. He pulled the chair back and sat down definitively. His presence was

always well known, and he made sure of that. I served a small amount of food; my

mother always exclaimed that I was a poor eater. My eating habits were nothing to

write home about, but certainly it was far more beneficial to be petit rather than

exceedingly plump. There was hardly any noise, the food obviously was tasty.

Although the occasional grunting of my obstreperous brothers could be heard

disrupting the calm atmosphere. My brothers and my mother finished and left the

table, leaving my father and me at the dining table. I picked up the fork and

apathetically began to drop chunks of food down my throat. The silence split the

room. I continued to focus on my plate, ignoring any eye contact to be allowed with
my father. My father and I had a torn relationship; he was never around when I was a

child. He was always on duty. To him anything took precedence over family, it burned

deep inside of me and time had not healed the gapping wounds. The warm atmosphere

began to cool and return to its usual state.

A ring of the doorbell resounded breaking the hush that had encompassed the room. I

got up, eager to leave my father. I headed towards the front door. When I arrived at

the doorstep a collection of mail wrapped in nylon string were lying on the porch. I

knelt down and picked up the bundle. I rummaged through most of the envelopes,

which appeared to be bills. I came across one l which caught my eye. It was a yellow

envelope. The paper was coarse and the edges were rough. It had the British flag

proudly displayed at the top left corner. Underneath it read British infantry forces.

Directly opposite it was a10 pence stamp, represented by a washed out daffodil with

the date 9th October 1939. Centred in the middle is wrote Mr Hadrow, 7th regiment

of the British infantry force. It definitely for my father, yet I was perplexed bout the

contents inside. I began to walk back inside the house when my grandmother asked to

see the letter I was holding firmly. She snatched it from my hands. An overriding

desire to hit the woman boiled up, but I kept it bottled up. She ripped it open in

excitement. Her eyes began to dart from left to right, scanning the contents of the

letter. How wonderful, my boy, oh my boy this is truly the greatest day of my life,

she exclaimed in this gratified tone. I looked at her with intent, the folds in her face

curled to present this feature of elation. What an honour, how she loves you and you

to her, she continued like the glorious hymns sung in church.

My mother appeared at the front of the door, her face seemed to have tightened as her

eyes drew upon me anxiously. I had no clue what was happening. But from my
mothers withdrawn expression and the burgeoning fear in her eyes, I knew it was

serious. My mother glanced towards my grandma who had this sinister grin upon her

vibrant face. My mother burst into tears, the downpour drenching her clothes. She

collapsed on the floor, along with a loud thud. Her heart was shattered from the

remorseful news of my fathers letter to join the frontlines. She lay cold on the floor.

Her eyes, the colour washed out, in search for comfort she glanced up towards me.

My heartstrings were torn apart. Our intrinsic link evaporated, the situation sliced us

in an instant.

I could see my father in the distance, witnessing my mothers howling as she

screamed for mercy. Unmoved, he stood there as I nothing had happened. His face

expressionless, covering his emotions beneath a deep a spurious air of calm. I myself

began to tear; the realisation hit me like an icy gust of wind. My father had been

called for duty.

I ran to my room, confused and broken on the inside. I locked the door in an attempt

to escape reality. I lay on my bed, a plethora of emotions racing through my mind.

The sun had disappeared and darkness enveloped the town. I was about to fall of the

precipice into the chasm of insanity. I lay there for a while in a trance. A cold breath

of wing blew from outside. I looked outwards at the garden. I searched for the

sunflower I saw earlier. It had vanished along with my dad.