The View From Out Here

Posted: July 30, 2017 in Stories, Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Do you see her there, quietly crying at the water’s edge as the river rushes by? Can you make out the teardrops from where you are? Let me remove a cloud so they catch a quick reflection of the moonlight on their way down. Now can you see?

Would you like to know what she is crying about, this little thirteen-year-old child who shouldn’t be out here alone, especially this late at night?

I can tell you if you would like, you see, I know her. I know her better than you could possibly imagine. We sit out here together sometimes, for hours on end talking, laughing, and crying.

You don’t seem all that concerned, have you not figured out who she is yet? It is pretty dark tonight, let me call her name.

No, no, it’s too late to be scared. Sit back down. Here, let me tighten these restraints a little more.

She can’t hear you, I’ve brought you here to observe, nothing more.

Look behind us, can you see the back door to your house? Yes? Good. Do you know why we are right here and not somewhere further off in the woods? Do you have any idea the thought that has been put into this? Of course, you don’t, so let me tell you. We are the furthest distance from which she can still hear the baby cry if it wakes up. You see, your daughter isn’t quite as uncaring and selfish as you keep telling people so that you can collect sympathy praise for having to raise her alone. She’s become quite good at caring for her younger siblings because daddy is far too busy chasing dragons, pussy, and an escape from age and loneliness.

Calm down, bravado doesn’t impress me. Look at her.

Do you still want to know why she is crying? She’s crying because you took away her phone. No, not because she lost her phone. You’re thinking way too simple mindedly. You took away her only means to combat the rumors that are running rampant through social media. You can’t stop others, but her silence she fears will look like guilt. You’ve stolen one of her guilty pleasures that help her get through the day, her music. Her outlet that she uses as she stands in the shower crying along to the lyrics, that was her release.

That’s not the only reason she is crying. She’s also crying because she believes you. She believes that she is ungrateful, even though she cries herself to sleep sometimes out here telling me how thankful she is to be able to feed her siblings and see them smile and play. How grateful she is to have blankets and a pillow, to have clothes, and even though you wouldn’t buy her any, she is thankful that she found her mothers makeup bag so she can practice and pretend that her life is like so many others out there. She’s even thankful for you, even though you leave them alone almost nightly, you have always come back within a day or three, and for that she is thankful.

Shh, I don’t care about your childhood. Tonight isn’t about you, it’s about her.

That’s right, look at her there. Look closer. Sadly I can’t make the moon shine brighter for you, but let’s take a second and listen closely.

Oh, you heard that didn’t you, the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered in your favorite 1911 pistol? Yes, you can see it now as she raises it. See how the nickel plating catches the moonlight and throws it around so violently as her hand shakes? It would almost be beautiful if it were an abstract thing, don’t you think?
I told you she can’t hear you. It is far too late for you to intervene. You should have done that months ago when she was crying for you not to go when she was begging you to help her because she couldn’t handle it anymore. She was just a silly girl then, huh? Responsibilities are good things for children to learn, right? You had it so much worse when you were her age. I know.

I’m sorry, all this talk and I don’t think I even introduced myself properly.

My name is Death, now if you’ll excuse me I have to go see to your daughter.

 

 

 

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