And On The Eighth Day. . .
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
957
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
957
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
And On The Eighth Day. . .
"And On the Eighth Day. . ."
"Please God, why," Her uplifted hands quaking. "Can't you hear me? Are you even listening," She screamed at the random patterns in the sky as they fell, wet and cold. A light breeze bent the tall grass like an old hunchbacked man, tugging at her soaked clothes.
"Do my words fall on deaf ears?" Her voice cracked with each sob, "why does your will seem so cold, cruel and illogical? Why did you take her away!" The innocent snake in the beaten down grass around her adjusted its course around her after being shouted at.
A figure shimmered and she instantly recognized the outline of her mother, who stepped forward without disturbing the grass and cradled her daughter's head to her bosom.
"I still feel you now mother, you are the falling rain." She sniffled and wiped her nose as the vision faded into the air in small spots of light that turned into stars in the sky. “Sometimes I still wonder where you are, can you still feel my tears?"
She jolted awake. Home in her dry, warm bed, alone. "Every night the dream is the same," she muttered. Silently she wrapped her arms around herself and began to cry. "I feel so hollow." Her gaze shifted to a family portrait, her beautiful mother smiling lovingly back. A disembodied voice of her mother spoke to her in a pained rasp.
"Meet me in the dream-time; I'll wait for you there. In the shifting and changing currents that flow in memories. The pain and unknowing washes away in time. Until then meet me whenever I come to you." The last cryptic words from her mother's mouth before she passed away from cancer. She hugged her knees to her breasts trying not to weep again. Looking beyond the ceiling she called to the sky, "I pray for the world to end but it never ends." It seemed like the world was a joke to her, God, standing by while his Shepard hunted his sheep.
Slowly she moved towards the nightstand, shakily removing a silver pistol from the top drawer. It shone in the dim light and appeared almost ridiculous. "Please salvage my soul," she sobbed at the gleaming metal. The steel cold against her temple sent a shiver through her. She laughed bitterly, remembering a quote she heard from somebody that hardly counted as a relative after her mother's death. ‘There are just three chances in your life to shine, take them, and watch them teach you how to love.'
"I guess I'm out of chances for I've lost the will to learn to love." After her mother's death she had nothing left. No father, no siblings, no family and no friends. Alone.
And on the eighth day, God made the art of war and laughing, planned the end.
"My life died on the eighth day with my mother." Her finger moved purposefully now to the trigger, no hint of regret, fear or self pity.
Click.
"Please God, why," Her uplifted hands quaking. "Can't you hear me? Are you even listening," She screamed at the random patterns in the sky as they fell, wet and cold. A light breeze bent the tall grass like an old hunchbacked man, tugging at her soaked clothes.
"Do my words fall on deaf ears?" Her voice cracked with each sob, "why does your will seem so cold, cruel and illogical? Why did you take her away!" The innocent snake in the beaten down grass around her adjusted its course around her after being shouted at.
A figure shimmered and she instantly recognized the outline of her mother, who stepped forward without disturbing the grass and cradled her daughter's head to her bosom.
"I still feel you now mother, you are the falling rain." She sniffled and wiped her nose as the vision faded into the air in small spots of light that turned into stars in the sky. “Sometimes I still wonder where you are, can you still feel my tears?"
She jolted awake. Home in her dry, warm bed, alone. "Every night the dream is the same," she muttered. Silently she wrapped her arms around herself and began to cry. "I feel so hollow." Her gaze shifted to a family portrait, her beautiful mother smiling lovingly back. A disembodied voice of her mother spoke to her in a pained rasp.
"Meet me in the dream-time; I'll wait for you there. In the shifting and changing currents that flow in memories. The pain and unknowing washes away in time. Until then meet me whenever I come to you." The last cryptic words from her mother's mouth before she passed away from cancer. She hugged her knees to her breasts trying not to weep again. Looking beyond the ceiling she called to the sky, "I pray for the world to end but it never ends." It seemed like the world was a joke to her, God, standing by while his Shepard hunted his sheep.
Slowly she moved towards the nightstand, shakily removing a silver pistol from the top drawer. It shone in the dim light and appeared almost ridiculous. "Please salvage my soul," she sobbed at the gleaming metal. The steel cold against her temple sent a shiver through her. She laughed bitterly, remembering a quote she heard from somebody that hardly counted as a relative after her mother's death. ‘There are just three chances in your life to shine, take them, and watch them teach you how to love.'
"I guess I'm out of chances for I've lost the will to learn to love." After her mother's death she had nothing left. No father, no siblings, no family and no friends. Alone.
And on the eighth day, God made the art of war and laughing, planned the end.
"My life died on the eighth day with my mother." Her finger moved purposefully now to the trigger, no hint of regret, fear or self pity.
Click.