Daughter

“Mommy when is Daddy coming back from his business trip ?”,I ask.
“Soon, Angela.”,my Mother replies impatiently while trying to strangle my twin brother into an itchy brown suit.  It was for the family picture. Every year on our birthday we would go to the photography studio down the street to get our photos taken. This year I was turning 7, and I got a new dress for my birthday. It is a navy blue velvet dress bordered with a fancy white lace and I planned to wear it for the photo.
“Daddy!”, I exclaim when I see him at the front door with his arms extended wide and his worn out leather suitcase placed on the ground. I rush into his arms and he spins me around in the air. He then plants a kiss on my cheek and puts me down. After my brother finally gave in and agreed to wear the suit, we all headed towards the studio.
The studio is small and simple. The ceiling and walls are made of heavy wood. There is a purple glass vase sitting on wooden table near the entrance and two beat down chairs near a white wall; the space between the chairs and the wall can perfectly fit a standing person. In front of the chairs is the camera. The photographer welcomes us in and asks us to sit down. I pick the seat right next to my brother and my parents stand behind us.
“One, two…”,the photographer announces clearly.
Suddenly, the ground starts to shake. Really hard.
Bang!  A wooden table topples over along with the vase. My heart starts to pound. I quickly get up from my seat and yank my brother out of the chair and try to head over to the exit door, but my brother screams in terror. I look back and see a huge piece of purple glass stuck in his arm and blood oozing out down his wound. His face is pale and cold sweat is dripping down his forehead. I look up and see the crumbling ceiling and back down at my brother who is about to go unconscious. I rush towards him and try to carry him towards the door, but it’s too late. Bang! Pain shoots up my leg. I crumple to the ground, next to my brother.

Mother

“Joseph! Angela!”,I scream while limping to where the studio once stood. I lost them when I was trying to save my husband from getting crushed beneath a wall. I didn’t. “Shontelle!”, I hear someone calling my name from ahead. I look  around and see my friend from high school. “I think someone has found your children!”, he says, motioning his hands towards him to tell me to come over. I run to him and ask,”Where are they?!Are they okay?!’

He murmurs under his breath nervously,”Well….umm.”
“What?What happened?!!”, I scream at him.
“Well they are both stuck under the ceiling and, well, we can only save Angela or Joseph.”,he whispers.
I feel all the strenght go out of me, and I fall to the ground.
”No!You have to save both of them! Please I beg you!”,I scream, but all he says is that I have to decide now or they will both will not make it. My heart drops. I clutch my heart and murmur,” Joseph. Save Joseph. He is the youngest.”

Daughter

“Their mother said to save the boy.”,a familiar voice says. I think I know who he is. Hes my mother’s old friend. I rush of betrayal comes to me. I look at my brother next to me. He is still unconscious. My mother choose him over me. She choose him over me. I feel the ceiling pushing harder from me.”One, two, three, lift! One more time! One two…” People from the outside are starting to tilt the ceiling towards my side to save my brother. The pressure gets harder. Everything goes pitch black. I go unconscious.

9 years later

Daughter

     “A little girl sits by the remainings of an earthquake. Her tears stream down her soft pale skin that is now covered with mud and blood. Her mother abandoned her.”, I say towards the end of the meeting as I read off my book that is now a bestseller. The reporters quickly flash a few clicks on their cameras, congratulate me, and soon, the meeting is over.

You might be wondering how a 16 year old girl could have such a success in literature. Well, let me tell you the answer. It’s because I was telling the truth. I was that little girl crying for her mother. I was that little girl who had her mother betray her. I was that little girl that got betrayed by someone who never should of.

Mother

I visit the graveyard where my husband was buried. There is a black and white picture of my husband on his grave, his eyes were so confident and his posture was stren. Next to the picture are the words carved into the gray marble: Steven Smith 1970-1999. 1999. I lost my daughter and my husband on that year. I place the white lilies next to the grave and leave.

Daughter

My foster parents call me for dinner. They warmly congratulate me on publishing my book. I only nod my head and pull out a seat to sit down. Seeing that I have no interest in talking right now, they all pull out a seat and start eating. Why did I ignore them you may ask. Well, today was the day of the earthquake. The day I lost my father and brother. The day my mother betrayed me. I pick up my fork and pick on my spaghetti. I put down my fork and ask to be excused. My foster parents nod in understanding and let me head back to my room.

My heart pounds uncontrollably. I see my mother. She is taking a picture for my brother.

Mother

I flip through all the photos I took yesterday. There is a picture of Joseph smiling brightly near the shimmering creek and in the background are rows of evergreen trees. I stop. Angela. I’m sure it’s Angela. She is peeking behind one of those trees.

    Daughter

    I run as fast as I can. “Angela!”, my mother yells. I don’t want to meet her. She betrayed me. She choose my brother, not me. Why try to find me now? Suddenly, I stop hearing my mother calling my name. I turn around. I see my mother sitting on the ground with one arm propped on the ground to support her weight. Her face is pale. I run towards her. “Angela. I’m sorry.”, she says quietly. Then she passes out. “Mother! Mother!!”, I scream. I carry her and send her to the hospital.

    “I’m sorry to say, but your mother only has about a year left. She is in her third stage of cancer. To make sure she may survive longer, you must give her comfort and not make her worry.” , the doctor says and leaves the room. I lean against the wall. This can’t be true.

       Mother

I wake up and see my daughter next to my bed. “ Mother!”, she cries. I wrap my arms around her and stroke her silky, blonde hair, something that I miss doing. “Sorry, Angela. I love you know that?”, she whispers. “I know, Mother. I love you too.”, I whisper back.

One month later

I go and see my mother at the hospital. When I come in, my mother’s face immediately lights up. After almost losing her, I knew that I could never ignore her. All I want to do is to forget the past and take care of her from now on.