As I said in the first paragraph of the home page, the one with the picture of Abby, I am going to put some of my stories on here. I kinda forgot about that and put just a bunch of ghost stuff, which is fine, but I do want to put some stories. :) There are more on my account on Quizilla, which I share wih Abby ((the girl in the first picture)).
Wyvernscave12
Wyvernscave12
The Soldier of Troy.
This story kinda came to me when I was reading a book for history Pre-Ap, "Don't Know Much About Geography", and it mentioned the story of Troy. I don't know if I am getting all the details right, but you all know what I'm talking about, right? The story of the giant wooden horse who was given as "gift", but was really full of soldiers that were waiting for evryone to fall asleep, so they could kill them? Right? Well...I wanted to write about that story, but from the point of view of one of the soldiers within. Does that make sense?
I shivered in the cold as I huddled against the wooden wall. I squeezed in as good I could in between the thousands of others like me.
We were told that we had a mission, and a great one at that. A colossal horse horse made of wood was built, said for war. As we made the journey, we felt the vigorous rock of the mammoth as the crudely built wheels rolled over the path. We then heard gentle voices,the squeaking of chains, and then the rocks again. After that we heard nothing but the cheers of what seemed like thousands of people. Our bones acked to leave, let alone stand, but we were given direct orders to stay still. Not one sound, until we heard nothing but light snores from the other side of our wooden prison.
At last the light from the small cracks of the wall slowly began to recede, and we were then left to shiver in the dark.
Now we stood quietly, halting after each squeak in the floor in unison. I remember clearly; our commander saying for us to kill anything in sight once we slipped through the small trap door on the floor. And that's exacty what we did.
I jumped out right after the one friend I made during my time with this army. Alex. He was the only one left, it seemed, that actually had a soul. That he was like me.
I made sure not to disturb the stones beneath my feet as I stepped into line behind thousands of others. For hours, it seemed, we stood there, listening to the light snores all around, feeling the guilt of death already spinning. I had lived with this army, and trained with this army, for my entire life, and we all seemed to move together now, if only in battle.
We watched carefully as the commander of this army went to the nearest person to him: a fragile woman that seemed to keep to herself, lieing alone near a wall, sleeping soundly. He looked at us in demonstration, and lifted his spear. He slit carefully, percisely, through the front of her neck, and her chest halted suddenly, indicating that her breathing had stopped. We all flinched, but made it unnoticable. We were told to kill all, even women and childen, eliminating the option of ever comming back at us with revenge.
The commander gave a slight knod of the head; a silent command to begin. We walked silently, we found our person, and we halted. We didn't want to go any further, but it was our command. No one moved. I was the first to step up. I felt all of the thousands of pairs of eyes on me, waiting to see if I could do what none of them could.
I could not kill a child, let alone a woman, so I stepped up to the closet man, unsheathing my sword from my belt. I made one quick swipe, and blood poured down, making a retched smell. So this is what it's like to kill....
That killing....is what started the Trojan war....
We were told that we had a mission, and a great one at that. A colossal horse horse made of wood was built, said for war. As we made the journey, we felt the vigorous rock of the mammoth as the crudely built wheels rolled over the path. We then heard gentle voices,the squeaking of chains, and then the rocks again. After that we heard nothing but the cheers of what seemed like thousands of people. Our bones acked to leave, let alone stand, but we were given direct orders to stay still. Not one sound, until we heard nothing but light snores from the other side of our wooden prison.
At last the light from the small cracks of the wall slowly began to recede, and we were then left to shiver in the dark.
Now we stood quietly, halting after each squeak in the floor in unison. I remember clearly; our commander saying for us to kill anything in sight once we slipped through the small trap door on the floor. And that's exacty what we did.
I jumped out right after the one friend I made during my time with this army. Alex. He was the only one left, it seemed, that actually had a soul. That he was like me.
I made sure not to disturb the stones beneath my feet as I stepped into line behind thousands of others. For hours, it seemed, we stood there, listening to the light snores all around, feeling the guilt of death already spinning. I had lived with this army, and trained with this army, for my entire life, and we all seemed to move together now, if only in battle.
We watched carefully as the commander of this army went to the nearest person to him: a fragile woman that seemed to keep to herself, lieing alone near a wall, sleeping soundly. He looked at us in demonstration, and lifted his spear. He slit carefully, percisely, through the front of her neck, and her chest halted suddenly, indicating that her breathing had stopped. We all flinched, but made it unnoticable. We were told to kill all, even women and childen, eliminating the option of ever comming back at us with revenge.
The commander gave a slight knod of the head; a silent command to begin. We walked silently, we found our person, and we halted. We didn't want to go any further, but it was our command. No one moved. I was the first to step up. I felt all of the thousands of pairs of eyes on me, waiting to see if I could do what none of them could.
I could not kill a child, let alone a woman, so I stepped up to the closet man, unsheathing my sword from my belt. I made one quick swipe, and blood poured down, making a retched smell. So this is what it's like to kill....
That killing....is what started the Trojan war....
A Piece of a Masterpiece :DDD
What I am writing below is just a part of a new book I am writing. I wanted to see if I had the right idea with the climax, so I skipped to the middle to do a scene. It's nowhere near done though LOL. I would love to know what you think! Leave a comment on the blogs :DDD
BTW this is a climax part from "A Summer's Haunting".
BTW this is a climax part from "A Summer's Haunting".
_Draft_
I watched silently as I saw the dark figure materiate right before my eyes. Nothing like this was ever presented to me, and I staggered backwards, nearly tripping over Baby ((Author's note: Baby is a Beagle. The narrator is a young girl of the age 13. Her name is Alexa and she is on her family's property)) whose attention was fixed on the deep shadow, growling, raising her jowls.
"Alexa?" I hear, and my attention was diverted for mere seconds. I turned and saw the last person I wanted in this figure's sight: Richie. I turned away from his wide stare to see the figure take more detail in shape, curving where I knew it would.
The woman was here. Looking for me. I knew she was here! I knew!
I had no time to feel triumphant. I shoved Baby away; she was trying to get in between the woman and I.
"Alexa!" Richie cried from behind me. He sounded closer, and I turned, seeing him right behind me. I shoved him away.
"Run!" I cried, shoving him again. I heard a loud hiss from behind me, close, but I didn't have time to turn. Richie grasped my arm, pulling me behind him, whistling for Baby.
I fell to my knees as we finally entered my uncle's house, cuddling Baby, who was whining with concern.
"That was her, wasn't it?" Richie asked quietly from beside me. I looked at him, seeing he fell down beside me.
"Now you believe me?" I asked quietly, a small hint of sarcasm. He gave me a weird look.
"I never said I didn't believe you, Alexa." he replied. I suddenly remembered all those times I felt something, all those times I told them...Richie never said a word against it.
"You....you believed me?" I asked quietly. Richie opened his mouth to speak, but was interupted by Baby, who had begun to growl, vibrating in my lap.
Looking up, I nearly screamed when I saw the door across the room open slowly, showing the empty hallway on the other side.
The hallway seemed to flicker, and soon, she, the woman, appeared in our sight.
Just as I saw her in my dream: broad face, full lips, jet black hair that went down her back, overshadowing her face, as she had her head inclind down.
We sat back in silence, and watched as the woman's face clenched, like she was remembering an anguished memory, and she clenched the sides of her white, knee-lengthed dress with her fists, fingers seemingly nimble.
"I believed you..."Richie whispered slightly from behind me. I leaned to the side, whispering back.
'Well, if you didn't then, I'm sure you do now." I say, unconsciously leaning back, scooting away.
The woman's body bagan to heave, shoulders bouncing, tears falling from her cheeks. My body filled with sympathy. Not only that, but I felt sadness cover my skin. I stood, handing Baby to Richie, walking forward.
"Alexa!" Richie cried. I ignored him walking further.
"What's wrong?" I asked quietly. The cries from the woman quieted.
'My baby." she whimpered, voice deep, soothing. Baby whimpered at the sound of her name, but Richie quieted her. The woman continued:
"That was my baby. My baby. My baby." She had begun to rock back and forth, arms wrapped around herself, as if she might fall apart.
"Daddy was comming. Daddy was comming for her, and I had to do something!" Her cries once again filled the room.
"Alexa...." Richie said cautiously, standing stiffly, as if getting ready to run. The woman's cries cut off suddenly.
'My baby...her name was Alexa..." she said, rising slowly from the floor., "Alexa Cathryn Davis."
"What happened to Alexa?" I asked, reaching a hand out, wanting to comfort. Everything else happened fast.
My wrist was quickly enclosed in her hand, and she stared directly into my eyes, hers black, dark, malicious. Making me shiver.
"I killed her." She said plainly, a small shake in her voice. My wrist began to feel pressure, her fingers squeezing.
"Daddy came and asked for her, said I wasn't fit for a child. He stepped forward, and I turned, my feet twisted, and tripped. Out of all fortune," She said sarcastically, "We had just aquired a brand new coffee table..."
NOT FINISHED WILL FINISH LATER
I watched silently as I saw the dark figure materiate right before my eyes. Nothing like this was ever presented to me, and I staggered backwards, nearly tripping over Baby ((Author's note: Baby is a Beagle. The narrator is a young girl of the age 13. Her name is Alexa and she is on her family's property)) whose attention was fixed on the deep shadow, growling, raising her jowls.
"Alexa?" I hear, and my attention was diverted for mere seconds. I turned and saw the last person I wanted in this figure's sight: Richie. I turned away from his wide stare to see the figure take more detail in shape, curving where I knew it would.
The woman was here. Looking for me. I knew she was here! I knew!
I had no time to feel triumphant. I shoved Baby away; she was trying to get in between the woman and I.
"Alexa!" Richie cried from behind me. He sounded closer, and I turned, seeing him right behind me. I shoved him away.
"Run!" I cried, shoving him again. I heard a loud hiss from behind me, close, but I didn't have time to turn. Richie grasped my arm, pulling me behind him, whistling for Baby.
I fell to my knees as we finally entered my uncle's house, cuddling Baby, who was whining with concern.
"That was her, wasn't it?" Richie asked quietly from beside me. I looked at him, seeing he fell down beside me.
"Now you believe me?" I asked quietly, a small hint of sarcasm. He gave me a weird look.
"I never said I didn't believe you, Alexa." he replied. I suddenly remembered all those times I felt something, all those times I told them...Richie never said a word against it.
"You....you believed me?" I asked quietly. Richie opened his mouth to speak, but was interupted by Baby, who had begun to growl, vibrating in my lap.
Looking up, I nearly screamed when I saw the door across the room open slowly, showing the empty hallway on the other side.
The hallway seemed to flicker, and soon, she, the woman, appeared in our sight.
Just as I saw her in my dream: broad face, full lips, jet black hair that went down her back, overshadowing her face, as she had her head inclind down.
We sat back in silence, and watched as the woman's face clenched, like she was remembering an anguished memory, and she clenched the sides of her white, knee-lengthed dress with her fists, fingers seemingly nimble.
"I believed you..."Richie whispered slightly from behind me. I leaned to the side, whispering back.
'Well, if you didn't then, I'm sure you do now." I say, unconsciously leaning back, scooting away.
The woman's body bagan to heave, shoulders bouncing, tears falling from her cheeks. My body filled with sympathy. Not only that, but I felt sadness cover my skin. I stood, handing Baby to Richie, walking forward.
"Alexa!" Richie cried. I ignored him walking further.
"What's wrong?" I asked quietly. The cries from the woman quieted.
'My baby." she whimpered, voice deep, soothing. Baby whimpered at the sound of her name, but Richie quieted her. The woman continued:
"That was my baby. My baby. My baby." She had begun to rock back and forth, arms wrapped around herself, as if she might fall apart.
"Daddy was comming. Daddy was comming for her, and I had to do something!" Her cries once again filled the room.
"Alexa...." Richie said cautiously, standing stiffly, as if getting ready to run. The woman's cries cut off suddenly.
'My baby...her name was Alexa..." she said, rising slowly from the floor., "Alexa Cathryn Davis."
"What happened to Alexa?" I asked, reaching a hand out, wanting to comfort. Everything else happened fast.
My wrist was quickly enclosed in her hand, and she stared directly into my eyes, hers black, dark, malicious. Making me shiver.
"I killed her." She said plainly, a small shake in her voice. My wrist began to feel pressure, her fingers squeezing.
"Daddy came and asked for her, said I wasn't fit for a child. He stepped forward, and I turned, my feet twisted, and tripped. Out of all fortune," She said sarcastically, "We had just aquired a brand new coffee table..."
NOT FINISHED WILL FINISH LATER
An Unlawful Murder
I am in the mood to write a master piece! One that will awe everyone LOL. One thing I hope I can accomplish! :D But what should the topic be? I was watching Family Guy, and it had an episode based on the trial of O.J. Simpson.....yes....I think I'm going to write a story kinda like that.I have a good idea how I'm going to do it too..... -looks from side to side suspiciously-
Hey! Just because I am writing about an innocent man, does not mean I'm siding that O.J. is innocent LOL. I'm not saying he's guilty either. I know absolutely nothing on the case, and it just gave me an idead -lightbulb-
Hey! Just because I am writing about an innocent man, does not mean I'm siding that O.J. is innocent LOL. I'm not saying he's guilty either. I know absolutely nothing on the case, and it just gave me an idead -lightbulb-
I sat on the bench they provided my lawyer and I with; an uncomfortable, wooden bench, when it seemed everyone else in that room was sitting on cushioned seats, with elegant backs that kept the seater comfortable, while I sat on a 3 board bench covered in needles. I rested my elbows on the wobbling, un-sanded, un-polished desk, laying my face in the palms of my hands.
My wife was murdered. And....of course...you can guess who the main suspect was: me. I did nothing, but was blamed for the fingerprints they found. It was my home! Why wouldn't my OWN fingerprints be in my OWN house?
They told me that I was caught. That the murder of the house wife, done by the jealouse husband, convicting the wife of adultery. Typical. Typical homicidal case, they said.
They did all that is seen on T.V. The good cop/bad cop role...the small empty room with a two-sided glass mirror...they even did the epic shining a bright light in my face, hoping that I would flinch, actually breaking my cool facade, to releas all guilt of her murder under the unforgiving stare of the bad cop, and the sweet stare of the good one. I told them what I knew, and of course I was still not set free.
The padded cell they put me in was an effect from a cause. I did not comit this murder, but because of whoever did it made it gruesome, I was being locked away. In a damn padded cell I might say again. My arms were wound in tight shirts that circled the front until I was put in there. It made no difference that I was willing to cooperate. That I had the will to walk into that court room without a fight, and held my tongue when I was told.
What I am supposed to do? How do I get out of this? What is the cause of my being here, much less the effect?
I'm going crazy. My hair askew, my arms cramping in this damn jacket. It hurts. Worse and worse every day, to where I began screaming random things; my wife's name, the name of my parents, places I have been, and even worse what I either had for lunch, or even what I want, not that it mattered.
This padded cell...it's becoming smaller! I know it is! My throats constricting...someone's in here! It's my wife! She thinks I killed her too! No! NO! I didn't! I swear! I'm innocent! I'm innocent!
The dark room filled with light, and my screams cut off instantly. I looked up, seeing that the door had been open, two men hurrying towards me, picking me up, dragging me.
No...No...
I'm dropped on a wooden chair, foam from my mouth spilling out onto this cursed jacket.
Not guilty....Not guilty....Not guilty...
My head lolled from side to side, bones popping in certain places.
"All rise." a voice came from somewhere. I hissed, shaking my head, but of course they did not look at me. The society of today not given even a first glance to what their government has produced. Not wanting to see what was before them.
"Under the name of the Defendant, the court gives its sincere apologies-" I hissed at them, "There has been a confession. Defendat proven Not guilty."
The words rang through my head, and I tilted it sideways, smiling.
NOT GUILTY....
My wife was murdered. And....of course...you can guess who the main suspect was: me. I did nothing, but was blamed for the fingerprints they found. It was my home! Why wouldn't my OWN fingerprints be in my OWN house?
They told me that I was caught. That the murder of the house wife, done by the jealouse husband, convicting the wife of adultery. Typical. Typical homicidal case, they said.
They did all that is seen on T.V. The good cop/bad cop role...the small empty room with a two-sided glass mirror...they even did the epic shining a bright light in my face, hoping that I would flinch, actually breaking my cool facade, to releas all guilt of her murder under the unforgiving stare of the bad cop, and the sweet stare of the good one. I told them what I knew, and of course I was still not set free.
The padded cell they put me in was an effect from a cause. I did not comit this murder, but because of whoever did it made it gruesome, I was being locked away. In a damn padded cell I might say again. My arms were wound in tight shirts that circled the front until I was put in there. It made no difference that I was willing to cooperate. That I had the will to walk into that court room without a fight, and held my tongue when I was told.
What I am supposed to do? How do I get out of this? What is the cause of my being here, much less the effect?
I'm going crazy. My hair askew, my arms cramping in this damn jacket. It hurts. Worse and worse every day, to where I began screaming random things; my wife's name, the name of my parents, places I have been, and even worse what I either had for lunch, or even what I want, not that it mattered.
This padded cell...it's becoming smaller! I know it is! My throats constricting...someone's in here! It's my wife! She thinks I killed her too! No! NO! I didn't! I swear! I'm innocent! I'm innocent!
The dark room filled with light, and my screams cut off instantly. I looked up, seeing that the door had been open, two men hurrying towards me, picking me up, dragging me.
No...No...
I'm dropped on a wooden chair, foam from my mouth spilling out onto this cursed jacket.
Not guilty....Not guilty....Not guilty...
My head lolled from side to side, bones popping in certain places.
"All rise." a voice came from somewhere. I hissed, shaking my head, but of course they did not look at me. The society of today not given even a first glance to what their government has produced. Not wanting to see what was before them.
"Under the name of the Defendant, the court gives its sincere apologies-" I hissed at them, "There has been a confession. Defendat proven Not guilty."
The words rang through my head, and I tilted it sideways, smiling.
NOT GUILTY....
R.I.P.
A blue-eyed angel flies through the sky for the first time in a long, long time. Her wings are magnificent, her hair glowing bright, her garments streaming, her blue eyes glowing a beautiful blue. Her wings carry her as if there is no weight below them, and she maneuvers them as if she spent her life as a dove.
She carries herself slowly at first, and the faster as she goes, as she sheds ther worries and woes of the mortal world. Her wings become brighter as she goes higher.
As she reaches a landing made of thick, sun-set filled clouds, a voice booms out from nowhere, shaking the clouds into a soft cradle rock. The new born angel now hears the voice of her maker, the voice of God. His voice is sweet as he tells her that her life is now through. That her life was fully fulfilled.
ANd then, at that moment of peace in her heart, ahead of her, magnificent gates appear. The gates seemed to have been carved from nothing but gold and pearls by the hands of God and the angels themselves.
The gates soon open, show a magnificent site ahead. Her wings began to glow a blinding light at the happiness that swelled in her heart. Her wings carry her across the threshold of Heaven's gate, her eyes seeing people she has not seen, and has been wanting to see, for years on end until now. The last sight we see of her, before the gates silently behind her, is her finally being lifted into her deceased husband's arms once more.
She carries herself slowly at first, and the faster as she goes, as she sheds ther worries and woes of the mortal world. Her wings become brighter as she goes higher.
As she reaches a landing made of thick, sun-set filled clouds, a voice booms out from nowhere, shaking the clouds into a soft cradle rock. The new born angel now hears the voice of her maker, the voice of God. His voice is sweet as he tells her that her life is now through. That her life was fully fulfilled.
ANd then, at that moment of peace in her heart, ahead of her, magnificent gates appear. The gates seemed to have been carved from nothing but gold and pearls by the hands of God and the angels themselves.
The gates soon open, show a magnificent site ahead. Her wings began to glow a blinding light at the happiness that swelled in her heart. Her wings carry her across the threshold of Heaven's gate, her eyes seeing people she has not seen, and has been wanting to see, for years on end until now. The last sight we see of her, before the gates silently behind her, is her finally being lifted into her deceased husband's arms once more.
Things Never Turn Out As They Seem
Looking from above, everything seemed so gloomy. The wind ripping around, the rain seeming endless, the lightening making everyone jump evrytime it caused thunder. The grave sites turned to mud, their markers dark and damp.
Everyone was crying. And I knew why. How can you not tell with a scene like this?
They had it all wrong. They were mourning over a young girl who had died, and yet there was no need.
--------------------------------
I wiped the hair from my eyes, not knowing if they were wet from the rain, or wet from what I was crying. I had loved her. So much, and yet she had to be taken. Let me re-word that....I still love her. So much. And now I no longer got to see her, talk to her, or even think about her anymore, lest I break down.
She was important to the world. You could tell that even Mother Earth did not want to let her go, seeing how she was crying and screaming with the rest of us during the burial. Her tears hit like needles, and her screams bloodied our ears. She didn't want to let her go, and neither did I.
Everyone began to leave, the service over, the mourning still pouring from every where, the rain unrelenting. I almost couldn't leave, but if it wasn't for my brothers standing next to me, I would've stayed. I can't let them get sick also. Die also.
------------------------------
The air did seem full of mourn, and if you did happen to tune to the weather of that day, you could see that in most areas it was raining. Some harder than others, some not at all, but it was an unusual amount of rain at one time.
That girl believed Mother Nature was also mourning the death of a young child, such as of that 15-year-old, and many participants of that funeral did believe so also, but they were wrong.
The humans that gathered that spot didn't know how strong emotions can be. Their emotions, their feeling of mourning, called forth rain clouds that covered the sky, crying just as hard as they did. They did not believe that it was them that brought the rain.
Everyone was crying. And I knew why. How can you not tell with a scene like this?
They had it all wrong. They were mourning over a young girl who had died, and yet there was no need.
--------------------------------
I wiped the hair from my eyes, not knowing if they were wet from the rain, or wet from what I was crying. I had loved her. So much, and yet she had to be taken. Let me re-word that....I still love her. So much. And now I no longer got to see her, talk to her, or even think about her anymore, lest I break down.
She was important to the world. You could tell that even Mother Earth did not want to let her go, seeing how she was crying and screaming with the rest of us during the burial. Her tears hit like needles, and her screams bloodied our ears. She didn't want to let her go, and neither did I.
Everyone began to leave, the service over, the mourning still pouring from every where, the rain unrelenting. I almost couldn't leave, but if it wasn't for my brothers standing next to me, I would've stayed. I can't let them get sick also. Die also.
------------------------------
The air did seem full of mourn, and if you did happen to tune to the weather of that day, you could see that in most areas it was raining. Some harder than others, some not at all, but it was an unusual amount of rain at one time.
That girl believed Mother Nature was also mourning the death of a young child, such as of that 15-year-old, and many participants of that funeral did believe so also, but they were wrong.
The humans that gathered that spot didn't know how strong emotions can be. Their emotions, their feeling of mourning, called forth rain clouds that covered the sky, crying just as hard as they did. They did not believe that it was them that brought the rain.
Random Details
I want to try something that I read in a writing book that one of my best friends lent to me - and I have yet to give it back.... so sorry, 'lena!!! T.T - and it an exercise in there that said to write down details of that around you.
I did it one day with a mechanical pencil, and I ended up really liking it. Now, just because I wanna make something deep and meaningful, I want to write what ever comes to my head. I also want to see how easily something can come to me or not. Maybe I can paint a picture for you =^^=
I did it one day with a mechanical pencil, and I ended up really liking it. Now, just because I wanna make something deep and meaningful, I want to write what ever comes to my head. I also want to see how easily something can come to me or not. Maybe I can paint a picture for you =^^=
The scene went through a small path, certainly not a modern one, so you can tell from the lack of modern material and size of it. Entering through an iron gate, several stories go thorugh your head, reminding you why those gates are there.
To keep the spirits at bay....
Your head hurts, pounding at everything you look at, your ears wanting to bleed from sounds that seemed to pierce your mind.
Look over there. That gravestone to your left, with the small arch angel.
An elderly man, died peacefully in his sleep, his life fulfilled. What a lucky man.
Look to your right. A slightly bigger stone, seeming to have a red tint to it.
A young girl. Murdered at the age of 17. What an unlucky girl.
Look ahead of you. A wooden cross, plastered down with paint, water ruined ribbons, decaying flowers.
A baby who died at birth. No name, no gender. The parents couldn't handle the thought of knowing once they had found out that their baby had died. They couldn't handle the thought of knowing they lost a baby due to the alcohol abuse from the mother, the physical abuse from the father. They couldn't handle the thought that maybe the baby was better off now than it would've been in their actual home. They couldn't handle the thought that maybe they really did need help. They just didn't want to see it.
To keep the spirits at bay....
Your head hurts, pounding at everything you look at, your ears wanting to bleed from sounds that seemed to pierce your mind.
Look over there. That gravestone to your left, with the small arch angel.
An elderly man, died peacefully in his sleep, his life fulfilled. What a lucky man.
Look to your right. A slightly bigger stone, seeming to have a red tint to it.
A young girl. Murdered at the age of 17. What an unlucky girl.
Look ahead of you. A wooden cross, plastered down with paint, water ruined ribbons, decaying flowers.
A baby who died at birth. No name, no gender. The parents couldn't handle the thought of knowing once they had found out that their baby had died. They couldn't handle the thought of knowing they lost a baby due to the alcohol abuse from the mother, the physical abuse from the father. They couldn't handle the thought that maybe the baby was better off now than it would've been in their actual home. They couldn't handle the thought that maybe they really did need help. They just didn't want to see it.
