Like Mother, Like Daughter

July 22, 2016
By SoullessSkeleton617 BRONZE, Warrington, Pennsylvania
SoullessSkeleton617 BRONZE, Warrington, Pennsylvania
4 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
"Humanity's future is in the stars. Below us, only our grave." -Markiplier

Oh how the flowers bloom on a glorious July morning, as the villagers swarm around, every one of them mourning.
They bow their heads as they drown out the sorrow, not wanting to leave their only hope dead for tomorrow.
They did all they could, showed her love and compassion, but in the end, she was left burned and ashen.
“Oh what we would give, to have our girl back,” cried the mother, at her daughter’s skin of black.
“Our souls, our dreams, something that we’ve lost,” wept the father knelt down, not knowing exactly just the cost.
Flowers once dull, morphed into a bright summer’s yellow, as if to commemorate this girl, so shy and mellow.
The rest of the village left, leaving the parents alone, staying until sunset eventually dragging their feet back home.
They crawled into bed, facing opposite directions, each of them silently thinking of the day’s reflections.
Their daughter had burned, her smile in the ground, the mother thought that she might’ve just drowned.
The father vowed to protect any future kin, to hide them all, so they may be free of sin.
The night took them both, and they slept, but out there, a little girl wept.
The mother awoke, though it wasn’t by choice, for through the darkness came and echo of a voice.
She knew this crying, she’d heard it before, when the girl had found them, knocking on the door.
“Please mother,” she cried, pleading at her toes, “They’ll find me and then only god knows-“
She’d shut the door, not turning around, for all she heard know was a body fallen to the ground.
Her grin became wider as she stepped inside, “Honey I’m home!” she called out, his bride.
That was then and this was now, but she had died, she couldn’t be alive, but how?
The mother, confused, pulled on her robe, and went out to see, to wander around and probe.
Stepping out into the humid summer’s air, feeling a whisper of wind up against her hair.
She stumbled and tripped, to the center of the town, where her daughter, burned and dying, had finally fallen down.
But instead of ashes, there sat the outline of her daughter, hands against her face, victim to the slaughter.
Taking a step closer, her child’s eyes found her own, but there wasn’t happiness, only a darkness shown.
This girl once so lively, young, and small, floated now above her mom, disproportioned and tall.
Her hair was matted, covered in soot and ashes; her body was wounded, covered in thousands of large lashes.
Out of these wounds dripped tears of blood, showering the mother, each droplet splashing with a thud.
Her smile was contorted, a painful grin, her body was draped in shadows, the fabric of her mother’s sin.
“Are you happy to see me in pain?” she yelled, gripping her mother’s throat, “Was I less important than that sickly little goat?”
“My child, let me go!” she screamed and thrashed, watching the flowers get farther and farther below.
The daughter cackled, her mother trembling for her life, but the daughter was no longer loving, merely a creature of strife.
“Okay mommy,” her thin fingers loosened her grip, letting her mother’s life and fragile neck slip.
The mother screamed, grasping nothing but air, crying to her daughter, who only held her blackened stare.
With the crack of bone, her mother was dying, but it wouldn’t stop her from merely trying.
“I don’t understand,” the mother croaked, “My daughter was dead, her body had been smoked.”
Another cackle, as the daughter descended, offering a hand out, to which the mother extended.
“You said you’d do anything to get me back, right? Well mother, that thing was your life.”
With that the daughter stabbed her in the heart, with spindly fingers, and nails so sharp.
Life was given back to her, that fact wasn’t wrong, but she’d never be the girl that was alive last dawn.
Walking back home, still covered in sin, she opened the door and let herself in.
The father was there and let out a scream, not knowing that this girl wasn’t from a dream.
“Oh father, I guess I’ll have to end you too. After all, it’s what you said you’d do.”
After the deed was done and the sun had risen, her parents’ souls had finally arisen.
Each in another village not far away, as the young girl cackled, listening to their bodies decay.
Smoke rose in the air, whispers flying as clouds, covering the daughter in their little shrouds.
As the daughter smiled to herself, she whispered, “I have a whole village to myself.”

The author's comments:

Creepypastas are a dying art. I started reading them late at night, always remembering to turn off the light. Now this is inspired by those works, because one of my favorites was a poem like this. I hope you all can find your own meaning out of this, even if it's a little frightening to read.

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