Daddy, daddy, why's the sky so gray?...
...she tugged at him, barely reaching up to his knees, but he knew no answer. Choking from welling eyes, he said, still looking away, "That's just the colour of the sky...", and bit his tongue even as he said the word colour. A tear dripped down from his cheek, leaving a black stain, of blood that had once been red.
It had been over four years now, and she was just two. When his first two had died the moment they opened their eyes, he blamed himself. He wept till he was bloodied. But that had all changed four years ago.
His joy was boundless when his third lived, fought, but lived, and now she was two. He had tried to kill himself once after that change, in vain. He wasn't one to take his own life. The world still had something to offer he felt, even if it took all the colour out of his life. And when it came, it did. She was born, with brilliant eyes, eyes a dazzling gray. He blamed himself.
As time passed he learned to live, learned to forget, and though the memories kept haunting him, he lived, for her, if not for anything. As time passed she learned to walk, to talk, to question, and to think. She saw the world differently, he knew, much different from what his memories told him. He closed his eyes, and felt the blue tides of the evening ebb, the shadows growing.
The tear rolled down his arm and reached her innocent fingers, streaking them a brilliant red. Something was awfully wrong he though. He opened his eyes, and saw the gray waves recede, and a spot of darkness in the shadow of the little girl who didn't stand there.
It had been over four years now, and she was just two. When his first two had died the moment they opened their eyes, he blamed himself. He wept till he was bloodied. But that had all changed four years ago.
His joy was boundless when his third lived, fought, but lived, and now she was two. He had tried to kill himself once after that change, in vain. He wasn't one to take his own life. The world still had something to offer he felt, even if it took all the colour out of his life. And when it came, it did. She was born, with brilliant eyes, eyes a dazzling gray. He blamed himself.
As time passed he learned to live, learned to forget, and though the memories kept haunting him, he lived, for her, if not for anything. As time passed she learned to walk, to talk, to question, and to think. She saw the world differently, he knew, much different from what his memories told him. He closed his eyes, and felt the blue tides of the evening ebb, the shadows growing.
The tear rolled down his arm and reached her innocent fingers, streaking them a brilliant red. Something was awfully wrong he though. He opened his eyes, and saw the gray waves recede, and a spot of darkness in the shadow of the little girl who didn't stand there.
posted by PLD at 2:18 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home