He released her small hand and watched her run towards the dry grass. She fell on her knees, took a deep breath and giggled. The corner of his lips rose a little before returning to the taciturn expression that now never left his face. He walked heavily towards a wooden, forgotten bench, covered by the shadows of the trees. Brown and yellow leaves adorned the seat. He brushed them away.
She was still on the same spot, her back turned to him. He sat down, always staring, with a persistent fear she could disappear at any moment. She looked so fragile, so…petit as her grandmother often said, yet so alive and strong. Her laugh carried no worries, no knowledge of the bad things of the world.
He leaned back, trying to relax the tense muscles. Her shiny, soft blond hair waved in the wind. She took a thread of hair and put it behind her ear and giggled again. She turned.
Her eyes were a perfect copy of a blue sky in spring. Her black dress emphasized her ivory skin. She smiled at him. He smiled back. She turned her head again to play with the leaves that kept falling atop her.
This time the smile lingered. Taking care of her alone, so to speak, would be a hard task he never thought of having. He had always imagined a perfect family. Diseases for him were nothing but a cold or a light fever during summer.
He looked up to the clouds. He had made a promise to himself she would never see him cry, he would not make her worry. There had been enough of such for many months. He did not want his little girl to witness all that again.
“Father.”
“Yes?”
She stretched her closed hands and opened them the closest she could of his eyes.
“Be careful not to hurt it,” he said in a caring tone.
“I won’t,” she replied staring motherly at the ladybug tickling her dirty palm.
He grabbed her by the waist and sat her on his lap, watching the beautiful insect spread its wings and fly away.
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Comments
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so pregnant with meaning i am lactating not really
Thank you!
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but i digress
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so pregnant with meaning i am lactating not really
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\'We hold in our hands, the most precious gift of all: Freedom. The freedom to express our art. Our love. The freedom to be who we want to be. We are not going to give that freedom away and no one shall take it from us!\'
-D. Frolov and A. Schneider
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but i digress
--
\'We hold in our hands, the most precious gift of all: Freedom. The freedom to express our art. Our love. The freedom to be who we want to be. We are not going to give that freedom away and no one shall take it from us!\'
-D. Frolov and A. Schneider
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