the face of an angel, and the look of a tormented demon.
She indeed had a kind heart, never harmed, or wished to harm any creature. She couldn’t bear seeing other creatures being hurt.
She even cried whenever someone stepped on an ant, hysterically, as if she was being tortured. “I feel its agony,” she said one day, “I hear its screams for deliverance, and that pain haunts me in my dreams, burns me from the inside and makes me suffocate until its soul leaves the human world and its body becomes stardust again.”
They labeled her ‘mad’ for a long while, and that made her childhood a living nightmare. Children ran away from her, laughed at her whenever she kneeled down trying to rescue a puppy or an insect, a plant or a bee. She was the awkward, young girl. The girl followed by demons.
The unwanted, the unloved.
The monster.
Her parents did all they could to heal her wounded heart and make her forget the cruelty of people. They would take long walks as the night falls.
Talk to the angry waves and whisper to the moon that they had a marvelous child.
One of a kind.
One in a world.
They would hold her freezing hands and sing her lullabies on the road, trying to make her fall asleep, for insomnia has made of her a companion it never leaves.
For she was haunted by the voices of cruel kids, and the shouts of all souls in agony.
She lived alone, and lonely she remained, until her parents came home at noon, and offered her parts of their hearts to heal hers, which was in a desperate need
of care and attention, in a desperate need of love and understanding.
She couldn’t look at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t stand the eyes of the girl looking at her. She said, “She is blaming me for everything; she hates me, and wishes I was never born. She says I’m a monster, a cursed girl, and that everything I touch will fade and die”.
Her mother stayed up entire nights,
trying to comfort her lonely girl with her soft voice and warm hugs, but the child remained still as a stone, cold as a corpse, and dark as a soulless body.
There was no light in her face, no life in her eyes, and no softness in her manners.
She was turning into a monster.
A real one.
Her mother couldn’t bear to see her child suffering, sinking into depression, being captured by darkness and being unable to do anything about it.
Her hope slowly died in her, and every drop of life and joy vanished in her heart, as she saw her child becoming heartless. Sadness followed her in every step, and soon was followed by depression.
Depression sucked all what’s left of the life in her.
The little girl found her corpse a week after she died.
For her father got another job, miles away from them, and for the child didn’t leave her room in days.
The little girl screamed all of shouts she harbored, all of the frustration, all of the anger.
Then fainted and fell on the bed, lying next to her mother.
Both were found the day that followed, holding hands, smiling to an unseen presence.
They lived in sadness but died with a smile.