Baby porcelain doll, the last one her daughter had ever held, burst into sharp shards as it hit the floor
Releasing so many emotions in her, some she thought she had closed within that small casket
Everyone around her just stopped and stared, silent, not knowing what to do or say
As she watched those pieces scatter she started drowning in a psychological flood
Keeping the tears away was impossible as she felt something inside of her…
Reaching into the sack, he handed his daughter a small potato
And her look of disappointment hurt his heart so much
That was the best he could do, at least she would have something in her tummy tonight
If he could do more, he would
Only if he gave her more now, she would go without later that week
Now to bully his hunger into being quiet until he got her to bed
The enormity of the situation was not lost on Joy.
It made everyone around her pause and take notice of how bad it was getting
Nothing in her life had prepared her for what was to come
Yet the feel of her baby daughter’s hand wrapped around her finger gave her hope.
She wanted to feel special
Puckering up she put on her bright red lipstick
And her dazzling blue eyeliner
Reaching for her glittery teal eye shadow, she applied it liberally
Knowing it was almost time for her date, she began to get excited…
Liam smiled when he saw his twelve-year-old daughter make her entrance
Everything she did shouted how important she was to him. Their dinner together was going to be special.
Going dead was such a drag
Having no sensations other than mind-numbing pain
Or the inability to have any strong emotions
So Wendy just haunted her surroundings
The way their daughter just floated through her days confused Wendy’s parents
Image: farm8.static.flickr.com/7893/46598160824_af3b049bde_b.jpg
Something really smelled bad
Christine plugged her nose and entered her daughter Fiona’s room
Every piece of clothing had somehow escaped her closet and found its way to the floor
Not going to find the source of the stink in that mess she just closed the door
That’s why, when Fiona was told she had to clean before doing anything else…
She said, “That stinks!” No truer words were spoken.
Image: 4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Br5SDvFGwo/XOGnc84QdxI/AAAAAAAGZ1E/1r8e3lP6bbUxZr4NB9Ez0ykgDJvNWpkoACLcBGAs/s640/floordrobeblog.jpg
So today she said hi to him and it put an unfamiliar happy expression on his face
Many days had passed since she last had talked to him
It had happened when he asked her about going on a date
Leaving him out in the cold and isolated with her refusing to acknowledge his existence
Eventually, it seemed, his daughter could forgive him for being a dad
Image: c.stocksy.com/a/QQe700/z9/1823694.jpg
Can you fly like a bird?
Are you willing to save innocents?
Perhaps you are worthy of this
Eugene tied the blanket around his daughter’s shoulders. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”
Image: marcellusdrilling.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/blue-cape.png
Given his motives were so transparent
Linda almost decided to shatter his fragile ego
And she would have, but his daughter needed to know
So she enjoyed showing the girl her fighter pilot wings
She loved breaking his idea of a ceiling, both for her and her dad
Image: i.ytimg.com/vi/ESBZx-tWnos/maxresdefault.jpg
Let’s play a game of pretend. Pretend you are a better person. Pretend you are kind. Pretend you are smart. Pretend that you matter. Keep pretending a bit more each day. My daughter pretends to be a princess every day, and I believe her. Make the world believe in you.
Image: static.tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pub/images/thepretender.jpg
Stories and photos from Scotland
A paper-cut survivor
Abdi Mohammed
The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
Sharing is Learning
AUTHOR
Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
Things I love, typically with people I love. Will likely be hiking, baking, and doing other things that make me happy.
The Official Home of Rolli - Author, Cartoonist and Songwriter
Never Short On Words 