Alright, here's the deal with For Love of a Daughter. I have seriously hit a major wall with it, and since practically no one gives a flying crap whether it continues or not based on the reviews, I have taken a holiday from it for a while. Until I see some reviews or comments that suggest I should continue, I'm not going to put myself through the time and effore to fight through the wall. Sorry, but the fact is, no one cares anymore. The views go down by more than 140 with each chapter I write. It's not worth it if no one is reading it. Maybe if I get inspired with it or people randomly start reading I'll continue it, but right now, no. So that's basically the plan. If you have an issue with it, let me know and maybe I can figure something out. Here's the final chapter for now.
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"Father?" I addressed him softly, barely holding back my delight. He beckoned to me as he had the night before.
"Darling, please sing to me, sing me something sweet so I can rest. I complied once again, sitting on his lap and singing a soft gentle lullaby to my dear Papa until we both were asleep. I woke the next morning in my bed. This time I seriously wondered if it had been a dream after all. How is it that my Father, who has barely stood in more than a year, had managed to lift me and carry me to my room? He was still a fairly young man, but all the same, I was no longer a small child. This pattern continued every night for several weeks. Every day Father's health seemed to improve a little bit more, the color came back to his sallow cheeks, his gaunt face became a bit healthier on the one side, he began to wash himself, but he still spoke very little.
But then, I woke one morning and he was standing by the window, watching the sunrise. I gasped in surprise and delight, covering my mouth to silence the sound. He turned lethargically and looked at me, his eyes red from exhaustion and most likely alcohol as well. He looked back at the sun and sighed deeply, raising his hand slowly and beckoning me.
I moved slowly towards him, happily but cautiously. He placed his hands on my shoulders, whispering,
"You don't deserve this," quietly. I wasn't quite sure what he meant so I looked up at him.
"You deserve a better life than the one I've given you," he whispered in my ear. I didn't know what to say so I remained silent. After a while he removed his hands and backed away from me. I looked back at him forlornly; them impulsively ran over and hugged him tightly.
" I love you, father," I whispered up at him shyly, cautiously gauging his reaction as he stiffened at the physical contact, drawing himself away and looked down.
"I love you too, sweetheart. More than you know." A single tear flowed down his face. Maybe, just maybe things would be ok.
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Little by little Father began to improve. Slowly he started standing and walking, still silent as ever. But it was a start. I kept to myself, but at his very whim I came running. As he had been deprived of love, so he had deprived me, and I took any bit I could. I sang my heart out every night, despite the exhaustion it ultimately caused me. I noticed quickly that the lullabies turned into lessons.
"A little higher, dear," and " not so much effort, feel the music soak into you," became me constant companions. It seemed that the only way to please him was perfection. The only possible way to make him happy was to sing. Every night I fell asleep in his arms, and every night he took me upstairs and tucked me in. Day and night became other worlds from one another. The moment day broke, he receded into the darkest corners of his mind, cold and undisturbed. But every once in a while he hinted that dawn was coming. One morning I woke and found that he had made breakfast for me.
He sat silent as ever at his piano, staring off into space. But the food sat on the table all the same. Who else could have made it? I smiled to myself and sat down to eat. He stayed where he was, but began to play a song I had never heard before. This also surprised me. I hadn't heard any new compositions for at least a year or so, and each of them spoke of so desperate a sadness and anger, of death and destruction, that I had almost been glad to see them go. But I had forgotten, oh God if I had remembered how he could coax that instrument to play sounds that could entice the very angels to leave heaven, and summon the demons and throw the fiery gates of hell wide open, perhaps I would have begged at his feet to continue. Until that point all I had remembered was the dull, sad, melancholy ballads. But this song; it crushed my joy into dust with the anguish it empowered, but it rose my hopes into the stars in the same breath. I stood, the food on the table forgotten. He didn't look up or acknowledge my presence whatsoever as I stood in the doorway and closed my eyes at the sound. My breath caught in my chest as I moved toward it unconsciously. The song wavered, reaching an ethereal crescendo before fading and shimmering in the air around me. My hands shook and my breathing resumed for a moment as I realized I stood not a foot away from my father.
I would say review, but no one does that even if I ask them too, so what's the point? As you can tell i'm not real happy about this, but I'm still open if anyone cares about this story. Let me know through review.