Spots of Grief
Notes: Hey, this is the first thing I've written in a long time, so sorry it had to be so short. Hope you like it anyways.
She couldn't take her mind off of what it was that was haunting her. Orange magic markers strewn across the floor, coloured paper stacked up like obstacles, lessening her chances of making it to the other side of the dining room. Her daughter, curled up in a ball, wailing in the corner by the fireplace.
There was something that needed to be done, something that needed to be said, but she would have laughed out loud if she could have thought of what it was now. She stared at her white fists, at the crystal tears falling on the carpet, at the broken glass of her watch.
She needed to get to her daughter, needed to be able to touch her, but she was strapped into the blue sofa chair. A thought jumped into her mind: Bob Marley. Where was her Bob Marley CD?
"Lindsey, where's my Bob Marley CD?"
Her daughter's blonde hair moved as she lifted her head slightly. The tears glistened on her cheeks, on the face that made her think of him. Croaking, she softly whispered, "That's not your CD, mom, that's Daddy's."
Catherine didn't move. Didn't flinch. She tapped her fingers against the plastic of the barbie doll she was holding (choking, really) and stared straight out the window. "He loved that CD."
"I Know a Place" came faintly into the back of her mind, humming itself forward until it reached her lips. "His sweater..." she whispered, and closed her eyes, not realizing that her daughter had gone back to her loud lament. "I still have to give him back his blue sweater. He needed it for his appointment tomorrow." And she moved to the bedroom.
It was laying on her bed. She saw it there and closed her eyes again, imagining him the last time he had worn it. She could still smell him. Grabbing the sweater in two hands, she twisted it as tightly as she could, changing her facial expression to anger. She whipped it, in a flurry of blue, across the room, and watched as it knocked down a picture frame from the wall. Heard the crash of glass. Saw her smiling face against the white of the carpet.
She didn't know how long it was after that, but she heard Lindsey go to bed, heard her bedroom door shut quietly, heard the silence of the absence of her daughter's tears. She flipped her body over, laying on her side on her own bed, staring at the picture laying on the ground.
Then, loud as a scream, she heard her own tears come.
