TITLE: Softly By Amy Rohrlach 08/29/06 |
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She sat by the window looking out over a field. She could see an outline of herself in the window. Her long brown hair framed her face; her blue eyes were shining from the sun’s reflection. Her lips, painted pink, were the focal point of her pale face. Outside the grass was bathed in an orange glow from the setting sun. The fence posts cast long shadows across the grass. Two sheep, both unshorn, stood grazing outside the window. The sheep glanced up and saw the girl in the window. They baaed softly before going back to their grass. Watching the sun as it dipped below the horizon, she sighed as the field before her was covered by darkness.
SINGING …
In her room she changed from her work clothes into a silky nightgown. As she moved gracefully around the room she sang the words her mother had sung to her so many times. Her voice rang softly and sweetly, yet clearly. The words sent the demons from her room. The troubles, worries and fears she had felt disappeared as she sang.
HAUNTING …
The room was still. She lay in bed, sound asleep, dreaming. Before her eyes she saw two people she knew. Her mother wore a long flowing white gown that covered her feet and hands. Her blonde hair and pale face featured bright blue eyes that she knew so well. Her father was dressed all in black; her shoes, his pants, his jacket, even black gloves. His black hair was short, and highlighted the paleness of his face. His eyes, too, were black.
CALLING …
Floating before her, her parents called her name. They called for her to listen. She tried to ignore them, but they kept calling to her. What have you done? Why won’t you listen? We know you can hear us. Please don’t ignore us. Hear what we have to say, daughter. Please, we love you. Listen. Listen. The girl listened to her mother and her father; heard what they had to say. She regretted listening.
CRYING …
She awoke with a start, her parents’ pale faces still before her eyes. She could feel water beginning to fill her eyes, blur her vision. The water had filled her eyes, and spilled over, running down her cheeks, leaving warm rivers. The rivers ran down to her lips, leaving behind a salty trace that they had been there. Then the rivers diverged and ran off the edge of the cliff that was her chin.
KNOWING …
Why did she listen to what her parents had said? Why did they want to tell her so much that they would haunt her? Now she knew how they had died. After all this time, she finally gave in and listened to find out that she didn’t want to hear it in the first place. She regretted listening. Now she knew too much. She didn’t want to know it. She hated herself for knowing it. It was like some secret her parents should have kept from their child, not told her years later.
BLEEDING …
Their words had opened the wounds in her heart. The wounds that had been scarred shut after their death had been reopened and were bleeding profusely. Scars she had willed to close in the first place now caused her just as much pain as when they had first been cut.
DYING …
The pain from the reopened wounds caused her to become unable to move. She became faint as she continued to bleed. The room around her blurred with tears and blood. She could feel the life being sucked from her body with the knowledge of her parents’ death; them haunting, and calling her. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, singing the same song she had just hours before, but the troubles of the knowledge didn’t disappear. She pictured her last scene of innocence; the sheep by the window, baaing softly. The field bathed softly in the golden light of the sunset. She could feel herself dying, the knowledge killing her from the inside out.
Softly … singing … haunting … calling … crying … knowing … bleeding … dying …
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