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Forgotten Child, Forgotten Life, Forgotten Tombstone
Scars. Scars running up and down, left and right. All of her scars were hidden beneith her skin, under the place where her chest constantly rises and falls. Hidden benieth years of broken bottles and thrown away needles. She his them so well that I was the only one that knew about them. Even she began toforget they were there. But I knew. I always knew. In fact, it's because I knew that she stopped listening to me. To her, I was the bad one and everything was my fault.
Today was her fathers birthday. He would have be 39 years old, 39 years young.
"Happy birthday, dad." She whispered. She set his present down on the recently disturbed ground.
'he loved you very much' i tried to comfort her.
She sat down and started pulling blades of grass from the earth. She counted each blade as she staed out loud 'my father loves me, and i him.' She repeated this over and over again until the tears that had been streaming down her face were finally dried up. This was how she coped with the loss of her father. This grave-site, these blades of grass, the tears, this was her comfort.
As the day went on, the crisp morning air had changed into a very intense blast on sunshine. And as the day changed into night, the air once again became crisp and fresh.
She had made cookies that day, and she now was leaning against her mom on the couch, they sat on the couch watching CSI together. It was silent,m but it was comfortable. This was her favorite way to enjoy her nights.
Today was her fathers birthday. He would have been 40 years old, 40 years young. "Here's to you, dad!' She half slurred and, if you could have actually seen the words coming out of her mouth, im sure they would have fallen to the ground to be stomped on. 'he still loves you..' i tried to comfort her, but she pushed me away.
She sat down on the rug in her basement and started on another 2'6 of captain morgan. between each sip she cried out laud saying 'my father hates me!'
She repeated this over and over again and it never helped comfort her at all. And this basement, with her bottles of captain morgan and the puke stained rug was her only comfort now.
as the day went on, and teh sun came out and then left again, she shadows in the basement changed direction. the rom was cold because the sun could not warm it. It smelled musty because there was no breeze to circulate the dust-ridden air.
She had gone out only once that day, to pick up her booze and some cigarettes, and she now leaned against the hard wall, watching her vomit slowely shrink into the carpet floor.
It was silent, but thats only because she had passed out.
This was her favorite way to enjoy her nights.
Today was her fathers birthday, he would have been 41years old, 41years young. "!@#* your rotted corpse, dad!' She dramatically displayed two middle fingers pointing straight up towards the sky. 'he still loves you..' i would have said, but she'd already glued my mouth shut months ago, so i could say nothing.
She expertly slid the needle into the vein on her left arm. Her body, now dyed a perminent blue tint, was nothing but caloused skin and deteriorating bone.
And this park, with its needle condemned ground, its numerous sleeping junkies, and her red and ble dotted arms was her only choice of comfort now.
As the day went on she had turned tricks in hotels and abandoned appartments.
She never felt the warmth of the sun, nor tasted the bitter crisp morning air. Shadows, created by street lamps, only made her more paranoid.
She had been gone over half the day, looking to feed her addiction.
And she now leaned against the rough bark of a tree, watching nothing and fading into uncontiousness.
It was silent, but that was only because she had forgotten how to speak.
Today was her fathers birthday. He would have been 42years old, 42years young. "I missed you, dad..." She spoke with a clear voice of serenity mixed with sorrow.
'he loves you too...' i would have said, but i didn't have to, because now she could tell him herself.