I tiptoed across the wooden floors, into a room. A room now bare,
but with the ghostly reminder what there was. The walls were
pealing in rips and I could still see the faint coloring of blood
staining three walls. The oak floorboards were stained too, but
it was only a darker shade and no one would guess it was blood
spilt by a murderous hand.
"Why do I even stay in this house with all these memories?" I
inquired, but no one was home. Only me, sitting in the windowsill
wrapped up in the past. The past that was only years ago, but to
me it was as if it were just days ago.
"Mom, come down!" I could hear my little girl yelling to me from
the bottom of the stairs. I guess she wasn't very little then,
she was more like a grownup than a girl. She was tall and
beautiful like a rose. Her hair was a strawberry red that fell
down in curls framing her pale skin. Her eyes weren't just a sea
blue, but they held serenity and joy. She looked nothing like me,
she looked like her father; her father, gone away into the ground
to rest for eternity.
I felt a sharp pain in my chest, in the hole that rested where my
heart should've been. It wasn't like I wasn't used to these
pains, but after years of bearing them a person becomes
accustomed to the pain. It's more like a lifestyle: don't feel
the pain then there is something wrong, but more like something
that has finally gone right in a really long time. I turned my
attention to the blood splattered walls, the blood of my kin.
I ran down the steps to find my daughter, Barry smiling up at me
in a black dress. It was the night of her recital she played the
harp and boy, was she talented.
"Ready mom?" Her eyes were lit up with excitement.
We made it to the music hall in our dinky little town. It was
warm enough to go in with no extra clothes. It was one of those
nights that seemed utterly perfect and nothing could wrong, oh
how I was wrong. She pecked my cheek and ran off like a flitting
elf, I knew I didn't have much time but I wanted to buy her
roses. My physical way of showing her how proud I was. I paid for
my flowers and signed up for discounts, I put all my information
required: number, name, address, email address, the whole
shebang. I figured I was going to be buying many more flowers in
I tried to sprint back seeing the time was ticking closer to the
beginning of the show, but it is rather hard to run in a dress
and heels. I made it with two minutes to spare and sweat dripping
down my brow. The lights dimmed as I took my seat and the
musicians came out, one by one like a procession of silent
marchers. The maestro picked up his sticks in his silky white
gloved hands and began thrusting them in different motions making
circles in the air. The music filled the auditorium and I could
pick out my daughter's harp. Her notes coming out slowly in a
melancholy way and picking up speed like a roller coaster. Each
song her harp played a different tune and I knew when the rest
stood up it would be my girl playing her solo piece. It was calm
like the Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. Her notes filled the air
bringing on serenity to lay on her audience's shoulders like
snow. Her last note hung in the air and everyone went into a roar
The last piece the musicians played vibrated the air and again
had everyone standing and clapping and "whoop-whooping". I found
Barry at the front shaking strangers' hands and having a smile
that curled up to her eyes.
"Barry!" Her eyes searched all around her until she found me
waving at her ferociously.
We made our way home with roses in Barry's arms and laughing, but
all giggles stopped by the end of the night and were replaced
with wails. I unlocked the house door and we entered together,
but I was too foolish to see the door was already unlocked. Barry
headed up stairs before I did and I kept the roses to put in a
vase so they will last for a couple hours. I heard the scream,
the scream that rocked my world and I let the glass vase crash
onto my feet, but I didn't care. No, I bolted towards the stairs
not caring about my dress ripping; I just knew I had to go save
my little girl.
I replayed the images of the fatal night as if it were a movie
that never stopped, just repeated itself. I walked around the
room and felt the sobs beginning to rip through me.
That man was there, the man who sold me the flowers to give to my
precious girl. His face was ragged, but he was smiling. His sick
twisted mouth was curled into a sadistic grin, he had Barry by
the hair and knife at her throat. I looked at him with a burning
sensation to kill him at the very spot, but I never had the
chance to kill him, never even had the chance to lay a finger on
him. He cackled and I could imagine him throwing his head back
and laughing like a witch that is about to cast a spell. With one
blow he knocked me out cold.
I woke up to his laughter and Barry's screams. Her screams that
play in my dreams like a broken record. He was using her body for
his own pleasure, his own needs, to satisfy his craves, but once
he noticed I was up and coming after him he pulled out and hit me
with a fist and a slow but killing kick to the ribs. I coughed
and out came blood, I stood up again and screamed for Barry to
run, but she couldn't, she would never move again. A knife
protruded from her chest where her heart was supposed to be. I
looked at the guy who sold me roses for Barry, the man who killed
Barry, and the man I swore I would kill. A new fury rose up
inside of me, it used to be saving my daughter, but now that she
is dead I was going to put that man through as much torture as I
The cops came before that, before my plans cold even formulate. A
neighbor must've heard and dialed 9-1-1 in anxiety, but they were
too scared to actually come and try to help.
I walked out the room to where paints and everything needed to
redecorate a room. Today was the last day the room where my
daughter was murdered would be and weeks from now I will sell
this place and find somewhere new to live. Somewhere, where a
middle-aged woman can start her life over.