Heart Of Arts

Damsel in Distress

Joyce Owens

The knock on the door was so recurrent she had to go check who’s there
Cautiously opening the door with a creak, her mind went off balance, dishevelled by the figure appearing before her. She leaned on the doorpost for support and subconsciously the door flew off her grasp and slammed shut.
The tears welled up in her eyes once again
Holding the dining room table for support, she ‘unbottled’ her pains and revealed them through hot tears.
“Where is mom?” was her incessant worry all these while, but “why was Dad killed?” became a pain; a thorn pricking her heart and tearing it apart once the thought arrived.
Over the years, she realized she had been living with a murderer. A murderer who claimed to be her dad. The murderer who snuffed life out of her beloved dad. That was the first page in the book of her life. Her mind slowly allowed her brain drift to the lines on the second page.
It read:’ The one I love was murdered by the one who loves me’ , but that wasn’t her story. It was her mom’s page found in the Book of her own Experience.
The lines were too deep to divulge, and too sad and painful for it brought tears to her eyes.
She prepared to proceed to the next page. That page was wide open, old and almost tattered, but it contained the most beautiful image in the universe. Yet, it was too painful to stare at, because on it sat a smiling handsome man, who looked like he never had worries and never would. That was the man, the one whose death brought tears to her eyes, the one whom her mother did love truly but never got married to. The one whom without existing would make her nonexistent too. Her own dad…
Now she would never have him, and if she would ever have her mom, not within her reach.
“Mommy, how I wished you never loved dad, how I wish you never knew Donald, how I wish I died in your womb” she sulked


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