“You will play with me, won’t you?” A girl of about eight asked. She giggled as she spun in a tight circle, her blonde curls cascading down her back, swinging freely. Her grey eyes shone bright with innocence. Her thin arms parallel to the stage floor.
“I don’t think I can.” Said the man. She stopped spinning and stared at him, her smile still gracing her features. The stage lights reflected off of her white ankle-length dress, giving her a pale and ghastly look.
“Yes you can.” She giggled.
“We have eternity to play.” With that she took off running and jumped off the stage. If he didn’t catch her, she could get hurt, and they would collide. Opening his arms to catch her in a hug, he closed his eyes, and braced himself for the excess weight. It never came. Tearing his eyes open, he was faced with what was the theater since it closed. The glaring stage lights were no more, and the stage it’s self was coated in dust. The rows of chairs had intricate designs of spider and cob webs strung about them. What was this place? How could a place that made him and his family so happy become this, and cause such distress. Where was his Isabella? His little Bella.
It came rushing back. The medication, the divorce, the accident. His little Bella.
The memories came crashing down, drowning him with each scene as is played past his eyelids. Her translucent complexion, oval eyes, and soft striking blonde curls twirling, leaping and spinning. Her will and determination, unlike any other child her age, but she still was like every other little girl. She loved dolls, and her second grade teacher, coloring books, and shoes, and to dance and sing. It was his wife’s idea for her to become a ballerina. She was so graceful and agile for an eight year old. The memory of Isabella on the stage, with her happiness only small children could retain. Her eternity’s and forever’s. The heavy cold metal in his hand brought it all back. The despair swallowed him whole, filling up past the brim. The past weeks had been the worst kind of torture imaginable. Everything stood as a reminder to her and how he had failed. His poor little Isabella, rose white skin, carnation pink lips and shining grey eyes would never grow up, all because he had failed. Raising the weapon to his right temple, he whispered “Hold on Bella. Daddy’s coming.” And he pulled the trigger.

NEWS SPECIAL
Owner of ‘Clear Water Theater’ found dead.
It’s said to believe that the Young Jason Water, a mere 34 years of age, shot himself.
Sources say that Mr. Water fell into a depression and was on multiply medications after finding out three weeks earlier that his only daughter, Isabella Water, 8, died on a plane crash. It’s said that she was returning home from her latest dance recital. They both will be missed greatly. A service will be held on Monday at 10 am, and will be open to the public.