09-23-2017, 11:21 PM
[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 460px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; color: black; padding: 0px"][sub]Her little fingers are what kept her sane.
That's what the elderly said. A little girl had kept a woman sane, and this woman was not of her mother. This woman had lost a child of her own. That child had been the little girls best friend. Killed in a car crash. The news broke out quickly in the small town. Her friend had passed away, and her own mother comforted the woman who had lost their child. The little girl only knew her mother, her father had long passed away during a bank robbery. The woman was the child's mother's friend. Every day when the little girl returned from school did she see the woman stare solemnly at her. Adults were a strange thing to children. The little girl had yet to know the true reason of the woman's longing gaze. Innocence. The little girl every day hugged the woman, allowing her to braid her hair and cook meals for her. That is, while the little girl's mother was at work. On weekends the woman did not appear, never to be seen. Some might say that the woman was a ghost.
One winter's day did the little girl wait for her mother with the woman, only for her mother never to appear. Something was amiss, however the child did not know yet. The woman had left the room for five minutes, leaving the little girl to imagine where her mother was. A gentle hand had touched her shoulder, the woman whom had lost her own daughter. Smiling at her presence did the little girl asked to be picked up. Without hesitation the woman carried the little girl away, for how would a five year old know that her mother was killed by a car? These things were better left unsaid. From that day onward did the pair never returned to the house.
Time passed, the little girl becoming an adult. The woman who had raised her becoming old as well. The pair had lived in the woman's house, the woman raising the girl as her own daughter. However, the girl had forgotten her best friend and her real mother. The girl thought of the woman as her own mother. It had never crossed the girl's mind that the woman was not her mother, and reality the killer of her true mother. The person who had planned the untimely demise of the girl's real mother.
Regret plagued the woman, now in her forties. Having killed the girl's mother just to have a daughter, even one not of her own. Still, the woman could only smile recalling the tiny fingers that granted her happiness. The little girl was now an adult, but the memories of raising the child gave the woman joy. Despite changing the little girl's name, the woman held no regrets in raising the child. Her child, Elizabeth Clark. The same name the woman gave to her long deceased daughter.
Elizabeth Clark only waved as she said, "I love you mom!" How easily fooled children can be.
That's what the elderly said. A little girl had kept a woman sane, and this woman was not of her mother. This woman had lost a child of her own. That child had been the little girls best friend. Killed in a car crash. The news broke out quickly in the small town. Her friend had passed away, and her own mother comforted the woman who had lost their child. The little girl only knew her mother, her father had long passed away during a bank robbery. The woman was the child's mother's friend. Every day when the little girl returned from school did she see the woman stare solemnly at her. Adults were a strange thing to children. The little girl had yet to know the true reason of the woman's longing gaze. Innocence. The little girl every day hugged the woman, allowing her to braid her hair and cook meals for her. That is, while the little girl's mother was at work. On weekends the woman did not appear, never to be seen. Some might say that the woman was a ghost.
One winter's day did the little girl wait for her mother with the woman, only for her mother never to appear. Something was amiss, however the child did not know yet. The woman had left the room for five minutes, leaving the little girl to imagine where her mother was. A gentle hand had touched her shoulder, the woman whom had lost her own daughter. Smiling at her presence did the little girl asked to be picked up. Without hesitation the woman carried the little girl away, for how would a five year old know that her mother was killed by a car? These things were better left unsaid. From that day onward did the pair never returned to the house.
Time passed, the little girl becoming an adult. The woman who had raised her becoming old as well. The pair had lived in the woman's house, the woman raising the girl as her own daughter. However, the girl had forgotten her best friend and her real mother. The girl thought of the woman as her own mother. It had never crossed the girl's mind that the woman was not her mother, and reality the killer of her true mother. The person who had planned the untimely demise of the girl's real mother.
Regret plagued the woman, now in her forties. Having killed the girl's mother just to have a daughter, even one not of her own. Still, the woman could only smile recalling the tiny fingers that granted her happiness. The little girl was now an adult, but the memories of raising the child gave the woman joy. Despite changing the little girl's name, the woman held no regrets in raising the child. Her child, Elizabeth Clark. The same name the woman gave to her long deceased daughter.
Elizabeth Clark only waved as she said, "I love you mom!" How easily fooled children can be.
[align=center][div style="font-size:14.1pt;line-height:0.9;color:#000;font-family:arial black;text-transform:uppercase"]HAND-FREEZING MORNING, LANGUID AFTERNOON TOO†BY THIS SOUND THE TWO OF US ARE CONNECTEDâ€Â[div style="font-size:8.6pt;line-height:1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:1px"] MAESTRO. TIRED & RESERVED. [abbr=TWELVE (FLINTLOCKLODGE), AFTERMATH (UNDECIDED), KELLY "KADEN" (NORTHSTAR)]CURRENT CHARACTERS[/abbr]. NEUTRAL PRONOUNS THEY/THEM. #receiver