Daddy’s lying awful still. And he looks uncomfortable.
The man lay kind of half turned on his front, his eyes wide open in what could be best described as terror. Although his daughter could not see it, a
tiny barb lodged into his forehead drew a thin line of bright blood that ran down his brow to the earth below. A few inches from his hand the wicked
blade lay resting comfortably in the grass, the leftover shards of box thorns, discarded branches and overgrown grasses he had been merrily hacking
away at only moments before, lay scattered around his body. At his side, his daughter sat, dressed in a lovely white and yellow summer dress, her inky
black hair wafting slowly over her crystal blue eyes. She did not touch her father, just squatted in the earth next to his body.
Slowly she turned to see her mother standing in the kitchen window, an checkered apron covering her drab grey dress, her hair tied up into a neat bun,
yet to be caressed by the steel grey of her kin. In her hand the coiled line of the phone twanged, as she held the end to her ear. The daughter could
not hear her words, but could see the single silver tear streak from her icy blue eye as she whispered softly. After a moment she placed the phone on
it’s receiver as the daughter turned away.
The young girl noticed after a moment her mother stood behind her, over the fresh corpse of her husband.
“Daddy should have offered a gift,” the daughter stated after a moment of silence. The mother nodded slowly, placing a hand upon her daughter’s
“Instead there had to be a sacrifice,” the mother replied, “you understand this don’t you?”
The daughter nodded serenly as the mother picked up the perfectly weighted machete. A moment later the wailing of sirens could be heard as an
ambulance and the police came roaring up the street. The daughter turned away from her father one last time as the silence was shattered and the
uniformed men came rushing into her backyard, fussing over a dead man and levelling questions at both mother and daughter. After the dead man had been
taken away and the revelry subsided, the girl placed a bowl of syrupy looking liquid in the spot he had died. She swore she could see a tiny mote of
light approach as she walked away, content with her gift.
It would later be revealed the father died of a heart attack while clearing brush from their backyard.
The young woman stood at the window, twirling her inky black hair nervously. She gazed down from the kitchen window, watching her daughter sitting in
the recesses of the backyard. As the body crashed to the earth, the machete fell from her husband’s hand, the man falling in a kind of uncomfortable
twist. Although she could not see it, she knew the tiny barb would be there, lodged somewhere deep in his temple. As everything settled, she watched
her daughter approach and squat at her father’s side, as the motes of light began to swirl around her.
A silvery tear fell from her still icy blue eye as she reached for the mobile phone. As she fumbled to dial the emergency number, a greenish mote of
light paused before her.
A small buzz, like the tinkling of bells echoed softly from the light source. The woman nodded, despite her upset state.
“I know. A sacrifice is neccessary,” she whispered, thinking of her father.
Another tinkle resounded. She nodded again.
“You have to understand. The men don’t know that they destroy your homes. To them, they are just weeds taking over the yard.” Another tinkle.
“I know. The cycle must continue regardless. Take my husband’s essence. Spare my daughter.”
The woman choked back tears as the essence disappeared, joining it’s kin swirling around the young woman’s daughter as she sat motionless over the
dead corpse of her father. Fumbling with the numbers, the woman dialled with shaking fingers.
“Yes it’s my husband,” she said as the emergency personell asked after her, trying to sound urgent, “I think he’s had a heart attck.”
edit on 9-10-2012 by 74Templar because: typos
edit on 9-10-2012 by 74Templar because: (no reason given)