Danielle
11 years later
"Mama who is this?" I asked and held up a sketch of a man. She took it from me and smiled.
"It's your father," she replied.
"Why doesn't he live with us?" I asked.
"He lives with the Angels," she answered. She handed the picture back to me and I studied it carefully. He had dark hair like mine. His eyes, though I couldn't tell what color they were, seemed to glow.
"What color were his eyes Mama?" I asked.
"They were gold. Beautiful gold like yours," she stated. I smiled. I loved my eyes. Just then my brother walked in.
"Christian look what I found!" I exclaimed jumping up and running to him.
"What do you have there munchkin?" he asked.
"I'm not a munchkin!" I yelled.
"Really? I think you are!" he shouted and picked me up.
"Christian put me down! I want to show you something!" I screamed. He let me down and I glared at him. "I'm not a munchkin."
"Yes ma'am," he said laughing. "What do you want to show me?"
"Look at the picture I found," I said. He took it from me and sat down on the divan.
"You know who this is right?" he asked after a moment.
"Yes, mama said that's our father," I replied, glad to know. Christian always likes to tease me about things I don't know. I climbed up onto the divan next to him. "Did you meet him Christian?"
"Yes Danielle, I did meet him. He was an amazing person. I didn't know him for much longer than a week, but while I was with him I learned a lot about him," he answered.
"Can you tell me about him?" I asked. He looked up at mother. She smiled and nodded.
"Sure Danielle. What do you want to know?"
"Everything!" I replied eagerly.
"Everything? Where should I start?"
"What was his name?"
"His name was Erik. He was a great musician and composer," Christian started. I asked him to go on and he did. Mother occasionally added details to parts Christian didn't know. After they finished, I was left to wonder.
Why was everyone so afraid of my father? Why were our lives so different? I reached up to my face and felt the right hand side. The side that my father had covered with a mask. Under my fingers I felt uneven skin, scarred and deformed. No one hated me for that. Why had they hated him so? One day, I vowed, I will find all the answers.
11 years later
"Mama who is this?" I asked and held up a sketch of a man. She took it from me and smiled.
"It's your father," she replied.
"Why doesn't he live with us?" I asked.
"He lives with the Angels," she answered. She handed the picture back to me and I studied it carefully. He had dark hair like mine. His eyes, though I couldn't tell what color they were, seemed to glow.
"What color were his eyes Mama?" I asked.
"They were gold. Beautiful gold like yours," she stated. I smiled. I loved my eyes. Just then my brother walked in.
"Christian look what I found!" I exclaimed jumping up and running to him.
"What do you have there munchkin?" he asked.
"I'm not a munchkin!" I yelled.
"Really? I think you are!" he shouted and picked me up.
"Christian put me down! I want to show you something!" I screamed. He let me down and I glared at him. "I'm not a munchkin."
"Yes ma'am," he said laughing. "What do you want to show me?"
"Look at the picture I found," I said. He took it from me and sat down on the divan.
"You know who this is right?" he asked after a moment.
"Yes, mama said that's our father," I replied, glad to know. Christian always likes to tease me about things I don't know. I climbed up onto the divan next to him. "Did you meet him Christian?"
"Yes Danielle, I did meet him. He was an amazing person. I didn't know him for much longer than a week, but while I was with him I learned a lot about him," he answered.
"Can you tell me about him?" I asked. He looked up at mother. She smiled and nodded.
"Sure Danielle. What do you want to know?"
"Everything!" I replied eagerly.
"Everything? Where should I start?"
"What was his name?"
"His name was Erik. He was a great musician and composer," Christian started. I asked him to go on and he did. Mother occasionally added details to parts Christian didn't know. After they finished, I was left to wonder.
Why was everyone so afraid of my father? Why were our lives so different? I reached up to my face and felt the right hand side. The side that my father had covered with a mask. Under my fingers I felt uneven skin, scarred and deformed. No one hated me for that. Why had they hated him so? One day, I vowed, I will find all the answers.