The Key and the Broken Wing
* * * * *
In the grave yard, yet on a damp and murky day a wooden coffin lay on the ground. Many people
had gathered around the coffin, dressed in black.
Tall, short, thin and fat these people looked like they had wings on their backs. As the minister
began to say the last phrase all of the butterflies threw white roses onto the coffin.
“Can I stay behind?” The young women asked her parents. Both of them held her hands.
“We have to go, the minister will finish laying the flowers,” her mother cried.
“I want to say goodbye,” she tugged her parent’s hands.
“We have said goodbye to Uncle Cherrome. Come on lets go get some food,” her father mumbled.
“But I will sort Uncle Chrome’s Coffin,” the minister shook her mother and fathers hand.
Later that day when the flowers had been laid across the coffin, two figures stood next to the coffin.
“Where is the key? I can’t find it,” Kimberley went on her knees and started to lift the flowers.
“I don’t know. Perhaps we have to price it open,” he laughed.
“No, I am not looking at the butterfly,” Kimberley shook the bits of flower that had stuck to her
“Shush, lets hide she’s coming back,” he said.
“Oh, no, It’s Jezzabell,” Kimberley held his hand and they hid behind the between the patch of
clover and dandelion heads.
Jezzabell, the same young women who did not have the chance to say goodbye to her uncle sat
down next to the coffin. She pulled her own white wings off her back, pulled out a long piece of
white ribbon. She tied the left wing onto the ribbon and wound the ribbon around the coffin. She did
the same thing for the other wing and then she tied the remaining piece of ribbon into a bow.