March 14th, Year 22

Father will not be going into work today. He is ill. Quite. He must have had bad pea soup, or something much more Mexican. No, he’ll be good and ready tomorrow. There really is no need to worry.

He is drunk again. I am a child again.

The park is lovely, because I am free to run. Run away. I hide behind trees and talk to the faeries. They do not say a word, but teach me many things.

I am a child again.

Mother’s head aches. Mother’s heart aches. Mother’s stomach aches. Mother’s life aches.

I am a child again.

I do not sleep to talk to ghosts. The faint light of the television keeps me safe. I steal cake, and it is more delicious that way. The wall makes noise. There are demons in there. Someone cries. Some thing cries.

I am a child again.

There is nothing but trees with gnarled branches. The earth will swallow me whole. The moon can be touched. The stars can be cradled. Shadowy figures ignore me. And I need this. And I want this. And I would die to live here forever.

I am a child again.

Advertisements
March 14th, Year 22

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s