Jan 06 2009
My Darling Daughter
Note*
Don’t read this if you are easily scared, disgusted, upset, or cant deal with fiction. This person is NOT me, nor anyone I know, nor anyone I have ever heard of. It is purely a work of fiction. If you enjoy it please let me know, if not feel free to criticize.
My Coat rack is talking to me again. Ever since I lost my wife its all I can do to keep from cracking up.
I’m drinking again, Erica says that I shouldn’t “its bad for you Daddy, your going to kill yourself if you keep it up” her eyes brim with tears as she looks up at me… Shes so beautiful these days, with long blond hair just like her mother. I give her a kiss on the forehead, and gently push her towards the door. “go out and play honey, dont worry about your old dad, ill be alright.”
She looks back doubtfully, but she leaves the house, and I collapse on the couch with my beer in my hand. I wake up sometime later, its dark outside and my little girl still isn’t back. I stagger to my feet cursing the beer which makes my head feel like its full of wool, and shuffle over to my thrice damned coat rack. Somehow while I was asleep its fallen in front of the door and my coat has gotten hopelessly tangled up. I tug and pull, but the coat wont seem to come off.
I look around, frantic to get out and look for my baby, and spy my pocket knife that Jessica gave me for my birthday, and flick it open. I cut the tangles away from the coat, it seems to take longer then it should, but that’s just because of how drunk I am. Of course the damn thing pleads and tells me to stop, it never shuts up, ever since Jessica gave it to me for our anniversary present the day before she died. Now I finally have a chance to pay it back for taunting me all these days.
I finally free my coat from the grasp of the rack, and give it a good kick to show who’s boss. The effort causes me to stagger as I momentarily lose my balance, and I put my hand down on the coat rack peg. The rich coppery smell of my blood focuses my mind, and I remember that my little girl is all alone outside, and I need to find her. I stagger outside, my hand bleeding freely, my coat in tatters, and the cold bites through, like I’m wearing nothing but my own skin. I begin to regret not taking the time to remove my coat delicately. my feverish eyes search for my daughter, suddenly alighting on the park across the way. I make my way there, moving better with the cold, and the pain sharpening my mind. The few people who are there, stop what they are doing, and stare at me. I scream at them to help me look, and they shrink back. Somewhere a child screams, but my mind is too frantic to take note of it. I wander for what seems like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, my bloody coat and stabbed hand leaving a trail of red in the light powder of the winter evening. Several people are following me, but every time I try to get close and ask for help they back away like I have the plague. My hand throbs horribly, and when I look it seems to be a mass of blood. I must have hurt it a lot worse then I thought.
I hear sirens in the distance, they seem to be drawing closer. Someone must have called the police to help me find my daughter, but I just feel so weak, that I have to sit down. I find a bench in the park and collapse gratefully on the cold hard wood. I raise my hand and notice that I still have the knife and that I am holding it by the blade. “So that’s why I’m bleeding so badly, my daughter is going to be so mad at me” I think to myself. I see off in the distance policemen coming towards me with weapons drawn. I try to look and see what the problem is, but its so hard to keep my eyes open. Maybe I’ll just take a short nap, to regain my strength. As I close my eyes a lock of long gummy blond hair falls over my eyes. I don’t dream.
