Death's Replay

January 24, 2011
By Twixychick BRONZE, Mckenzie Bridge, Oregon
Twixychick BRONZE, Mckenzie Bridge, Oregon
2 articles 4 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
"We say hate like it's a strong word, but we throw love around like it's nothing." -Anonomyous

Everyday was the same, I would smile, I would laugh and play, but inside I wasn’t playing, nothing was a game to me, never was after Daddy’s incident. I used to play, frolicking about in the meadows where we would picnic, screaming and laughing as I tumbled down hills, my tumbling blonde curls waving in the wind. My father, Jonathan, used to spin my around then throw me upon the bed and tickle my tummy until I would cry. My mother, Madeline, had dazzling blue eyes and a red lipstick smile that would video tape a small naked body running-a-muck through our small town house.

Tears pooled at the base of my eyes, I was remembering the drive-by. It was loud down town, night time, and lights everywhere. The hustle and bustle of people on Valentine’s Day. I was five at the time, swinging by the hands of my mother and father who would count to five and gently bring me up into the air.

“Mommy, I want to go feed the duckys!”

“In a minute Anny Darling, Daddy’s getting us some hot dogs.”

“Let’s go, come on…Duckys, duckys, duckys!” I pulled ambitiously her dress, trying to move her, but she stood still, swatting at my tiny hands.
“Honey, stop that, you’re going to pull that dress right off my back! Please just be patient, the duckys can wait.”She sat me down and gave me the bread for the ducks. “Here, give this to them when it is time.” Her smile emitted once more from her pale, beautiful face. Wind whipped her long brunette hair around her face, the tips tickling my plump cheeks.

A black car screeched around the corner and the blast of bullets erupted from the windows. My mother grabbed my hand and pulled me under the bench. Her eyes were icy, her smile gone. All wind was gone, only silence and screams. Lights broke and shattered beside me. Then he fell. He was running towards us from the hot dog stand, horror overcoming his peaceful face. His round head smacked against the sidewalk and blood pooled up from under his chest. His death was a daily reoccurrence in my mind, replaying itself over and over.

The author's comments:
This is just a piece from something I'm writing called Dolls.

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