Events
November 18, 1999
The small, frail-looking child sat in her mother’s lap. Her blonde curls had tuned slightly brown in the front, and were matted against her face with moisture. Her eyes stared blank and strait-forward, with catatonic features on her face, oblivious to anything that would hint at any sort of surrounding. The only inklings of present emotions were the somberly set facial characteristics, and the tears coming down, in a slow and silent weep. Other than the obvious, it seemed as if the event had not phased her at all. She uttered nothing, and cried for no one.
Her mother looked down to her in wonderment. How could she be taking this completely devastating event with such listlessness? Her mother did not think it feasible that such a young child could hold in such anguish as well as this. Even she fainted twice within the past hour from the shock.
“Doll, are you okay? Everything will be all ri--”
“I’m fine, momma,” she interrupted with a sharp sureness and slight frustration in her voice.
And everything continued to be fine. Her mother would try to offer some remnant of consolation and assurance, but the daughter reacted with a bitterly toned remark, seemingly wanting to be left alone. This was surreal to the mother. Is this not what I am to do? She is so young, a mere 7 years old! What am I to do? Just as the mother was pondering these questions, her daughter raised herself to her feet. As she did, her purple satin dress ruffled softly with the lace slip underneath. She shuffled in her black shoes quickly to the door, making a click-click-click sound as she did, her face inanimate to the feelings she was withholding. The door was opened, the remaining life in her disappearing as the door shut behind a last sway of the purple material.
The mother blinked once, her mouth slightly agape. She folded her long thin fingers in her lap to fill the void that was once her child. But her child that was once, never was again.