Tuesday, 28 March 2017

Wrong

      My sister was worried he would not show up, but she was the only one. My mum was in the kitchen, cooking my dad’s favourite meal. I was sitting at the counter, glancing at the door every few minutes. Knowing he would come, come back home. My brother was clutching our beautiful, brown camera, ready to take pictures of him when he returned. 
    Lying in bed, I cried. The news had hit me hard; dad was gone. He had been diagnosed with cancer four years ago and he was supposed to come home from the hospital today. The doctors were sure about that, but they were wrong. Wrong about everything.

Wednesday, 8 March 2017

The Message

My parents never gave me any attention. They were rich and that was all they cared about. What did it matter to them if I refused to do anything? Nothing, I tried to get their attention by doing all sorts of things. It never worked.
     Finally, I broke, I was tired of being ignored. I bought all the supplies I needed, plaster, paint, molds; all for a sculpture that provided a message, my message.
     The molds were set and the plaster was dry, my piece was almost ready to be buried ‘underneath’ the tree. The tree was supposed to be cut down, a beautiful oak tree, but I am stopping it.
    
      
      

Thursday, 2 March 2017

Darkness

   
My grandfather was lying on his deathbed, a look of pain on his sullen face. He opened his eyes slowly and spoke, “I didn’t mean to. It happened so suddenly. The girl appeared on the street out of nowhere. I didn’t mean to kill her.”
       What did he mean? But just as the thought crossed my mind, he drew one last breath and spoke, “She will emerge from the shadows.”
Those were his last words. Suddenly the lights went out and the room was cast into darkness. I could feel someone breathing down my neck. A whisper filled the air, “Don’t try to scream, no one will hear you.”


Wednesday, 22 February 2017

Laughter

I barely remembered hearing laughter in my home. My dad had lost my mum when I was five, from that moment on, he never laughed again. When something was funny he would just give a weak smile, but never uttered a sound. Growing up in a quiet and lonely household turned me just like that. But when I was sixteen, something happened that made me cry. My father was laughing at a video of my mum, me and him at the park. When I peeked into his room, I saw tears running down his cheeks. He was crying, but he looked peaceful, for-the first time he looked happy.