No one will understand again. No one.
The footsteps in the dark hallway still ring in my mind. I remember the icy tears running down my cheeks . . . My pale cheeks. Each step was like a bullet. They drilled into my soul, extracting the very essence I had lived on for so long. I called out for him to stop, but the wind swept my voice into the unknowing silence and the dull gray sky . . .
It was not until he was gone that I had my revelation. I still remember the feeling of being ripped apart by invisible hands . . . They strangled me . . . Hit me . . .
"Will you come back?" He would smile down at me as though I was a senseless child, for I did not believe I was. But children never believe they are truly young. The answer never came, but deep down, I had a notion. He had to return . . .
I remember the crisp fall air and the flame inside of me . . . That was before it died. That was before he died.
Each night we would talk . . . His arms around me holding me tight. I loved him. He told me stories about Gala . . . About heaven and Hell . . . About how Gala was our savior and how he fought in the Great War to open the gates of wisdom for us to inherit.
Now I cry as I remember those stories. I wonder if daddy is with Gala now. Each night I try to listen for his voice in the wind, to see if I'm wrong.
It was not until he was gone that I understood. But it still took time and painstaking effort. It's never easy letting go of the people you love. Never easy realizing their love was a weapon.
Bump, bump, bump . . .
My heart beat in my ears . . .
"Lola . . . I'm alright now." He soothed me after each attack. I was his life just as much as he was mine, or so I thought. We had to stick together . . . But I was only five years old. I couldn't hope to realize that his death was inevitable . . . That mine would soon follow.
Each night I would cry . . . It wasn't his fault . . . It was something I was doing, right?
"Daddy, where are you going?" His eyes were puffy and his shirt carried splotches of crimson red.
"Goodbye, Lola."
Bang.
The door slammed shut and I was left alone. The darkness swallowed me, and I fell.
I screamed and banged my fists on the floor. It couldn't be happening. Not now.
But I was a child. I did not understand.
The wind blew through the shutters and I shivered in the nighttime evilty. I will never forget that smoke . . . Never the hands around me . . . I will never forget the sound of him running away. Nor of his last breath.
"Daddy . . . Can you hear me now?"
It was then that part of me died. It was then that I saw clearly the truth of his very being, buried deep under the alcohol and smoke . . . Deep under the vibrant mask he wore around me, his baby girl.
It was then that I realized the hoax that y life was. But being the young girl I was, I refused to accept it. I cried and screamed for him to come back through the howling wind. I told him to tell me it wasn't true, to hold me and tell me about Gala . . . To wake up.
I will never forget that night . . . The night I learned to never love. For by loving, you die . . . And by being loved, you are only killed. Being alone is only an aftershock.
Ashleigh Elizabeth