She was only 18 years old, and I, twenty-three.
I had worked my way up to become one of the youngest journalists in the country.
But I have to say that all I wanted to do was hide my face when she told me her story.
“So why are you here?” I asked.
“My mother sold me. We didn’t have enough money,” she whispered back.
“Are you angry at her for doing that?”
She shook her head. “No.”
In that moment, everything I had ever stood for, everything I thought I knew, had come crashing down.
I picked up my pen.
That is all one needs to break. One step forward, two steps back.
Old memories return every night to haunt me. My past playing back, over and over again like a broken record.
I take another swig from the bottle, hoping to drown it all out.
But it never does.
Boom. Even in silence, I can still hear the screams.
But it is her face that I cannot forget. Her eyes – gentle and brown, swelling with tears, staring back. Hair tangled, blood soaked.
Losing heat, all I could do was hold her in my arms.
I wish it were me.
P.S. Sometimes relapse is something I’d rather not deal with, but a story to wake up my new followers. Thanks for following – I’ll be sure to visit all of your blogs sometime.
Derek stared at the glass as the waitress poured the pitcher.
He nodded when it reached halfway.
“There you go, sir,” she said, walking back into the kitchen.
He had always had his glass half full, half empty. But at the very least, he never really had it empty or too full. He sipped.
Suddenly, he grabbed the glass and gulped everything down. It was all or nothing.
“Order please,” he waved a hand at her.
“Yes, what would you like sir?”
“A pecan pie, and tea for two. Would you mind joining me?”
She blushed, smiled and nodded back.
I stopped in my tracks.
I glanced back into his eyes.
Behind the convex glass was something that I will never forget. They were dark spots, pleading for help. Yet here he was, silent. His mouth was in a neat frown; his face wrinkled by years of hardship.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the change from the back of my jeans pocket. $3.33. I tipped them into his used and empty coffee cup.
“Thank you,” he said. “Have a nice day, m’aam.”
He smiled. I smiled back.
Three dollars and thirty three cents. What a coincidence.
The egg yolk in the crimson sky was a magnificent sight to behold. A lone dark silhouette stretched over the grass and lake. Behind her, a trail of sunken footsteps had stopped abruptly.
Her shimmering reflection stared back with melancholic eyes. She bent down, wrapped her fingers around a small, round pebble and stood erect again. She let go of the stone, throwing it into the water.
It sunk, with a disappearing plunk.
Suddenly, another pebble skimmed the lake, leaving behind delicate ripples. “That’s not the way I taught you, Jenny.” a voice bellowed.
She turned around. “Dad! You’re back!”