The wheels of the bus go round and round, round and round...
Louise flashed a riotous half-smile at the little female child sitting next to her. hence she turned and looked out the window as tears welled up in her eyes. She silently berated herself for choosing to sit next to the girl, despite the position that there were quite a few empty seating in the front. The silly nursery rhyme brought her back to her childhood, when she use to sing the song together with Poppy. Louise chanced another quick descry at the little girl, and was startled by the resemblance to Poppy. tho then again, every child reminded her of Poppy.
She studied the little girl who was concentrating on the little toy bus she had in her hands. 2 women sat next to the girl, for the most part ignoring her. She found herself reaching out to touch the girls flaxen hair, to touch her cheek honest to make sure she was real. Louise some ages had dreams of Poppy, so vivid she would lots think that she could smell and touch her, however each time she reached out, the spectre would dismiss into nothing. She only hoped the same was of her sisters remnants.
She often dreamt that she was in the cemetery, and Poppy would evermore appear.
Sweet, sweet Poppy, now reduced to dust and bones. Poppy would always beckon Louise to follow her, and they would walk to her grave, and Louise would read the tiny gravestone with the words Poppy Wakesfield, Beloved Daughter and Sister, Born 13th July 1984 --- fifteenth December 1998, R.I.P.. Then she would turn around to speak to the girl, but she would meet contact with a pair of hands that would campaign her into oblivion. The last thing that remained...
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