cookiequeen11634
She was gorgeous. Her face was sweeter than the marshmallow fluff I was sure the moon was made from. I wrapped my arms around her waist and she crooned to me softly. My bright blue eyes, the ones the other mothers always commented on, fluttered closed. I was pretty sure I loved her. Loved her voice, her soft hands, her everything.
I felt around for the buttons. It was pitch black.
"Dad?" I called. "Are you there?" The siren wound into my ears and I cringed away from it, still searching for the buttons that would turn it off, get the sound away.
"Dad, where are you?'
He didn't answer me.
I never wanted to be a Brownie. Mom stuck me in Girl Scouts when I was four, hoping I'd learn resourcefulness and helpfulness. She was dead wrong. All I ever learned from that place was to hate my mother. Hate her every day until the torture of Girl Scouts stopped. And after that. I never forgave her.
She was always a mystery to me. From the first day I met her, she was a mystery wrapped up in darkness.
“Hello,” I’d said to her, that first day we’d met.
She just turned up her nose and the whisper of “salutations,” had come floating back to me over her shoulder.
writing since 2011 · 5 entries · 4 days shown up
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