She wasn’t supposed to be here, hell she was not even supposed to be in this country, according to his sources, but even the best sources could get it wrong. His heart broke with every step she took toward him, knowing that, no matter what he would say, he could not explain away the pain he had caused her, the pain of him leaving her behind, even if it was to keep her safe.
Her eyes, fixed on his, dark with a deep well of emotions, he brazed himself for a tirade of screams, accusation, and yes, even a slap. But he never expected, that she would place her lips on his own.
With desperation in her heart, she summoned him without hesitation.
The darkness of the last few weeks had been so overwhelming, that the warnings of the old woman had not found its way into her thoughts, never even considering that who she was calling for, was not the same person he had once been.
It did not matter, anyway. Her life did no longer matter to her, a life without him, more terrifying than any potential entity finding its way into her space.
One more moment, one more glance into his beautiful blue eyes, is all she asked for, and exactly what she received, as he took her life, as quickly as she had taken his before.
The following flash fiction is a dark monologue of despair. If you are easily triggered, please do not read on. Thank you.
I am afraid.
I have lost all hope since he left, leaving me with her, and nothing else. How am I going to feed her? How am I going to take care of this precious little girl, when all I have are the pennies in this jar?
I wish to God, that there were answers, that something would break, someone would swoop in here, and rescue me. All I have left is her, and I can not give her what she needs, what she deserves.
Am I a bad mother? What kind of person am I, if I can not care for her like I am supposed to? Is it my fault that he left, should I have done something, anything to make him stay? After all I am depended on him, and she is depended on me. I should have done something, anything to make him stay.
It doesn’t matter what he did to me. It does not matter how much it hurt, or how many bruises I carry as a result. None of that is important.
All that matters is that now, right now I do not know how to feed her.
What am I going to do?
Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014