Undying Paternity (DISCONTINUED)

Prologue

Four people other than her attended the funeral. There wasn't a fancy speech; she certainly couldn't talk. Those four weren't opening their mouths either; they were only there to lift and shift. Nothing more.

Two of them stood at each end of the coffin, carrying a corner on their shoulder.
Faceless and soundless, they walked forward to the planked hole, lowering it down on the belts laid across the wood before raising it once again, one of them on either side pushing the planks away.

She remained silent as that box descended before her eyes. What could she have done but sit and stare?

As the displaced ground was put back, she continued to sit and stare; at this point, her mind was too wrought with shock. This 12 year old girl had never seen death before. How else could she respond, but with stifled rage and staggered despair?
Every now and then, her father would come home with countless wounds and bruises across his body, but never would he drop dead on the floor. He'd always wear a smile when she was around. He had to.

Most of the time, she was quite perceptive, being able to tell that he was always feeling some sort of
pain — the young girl would often stop what she was doing to place her ear to his locked bedroom door, hearing him groan and wince, sometimes cry for a few seconds before going silent again.

He was always there for her when she was hurting. She wanted to be there for him too. She wanted to know how to comfort him, how to end his pain.

Out of love, he never let himself tell her the truth of her comfortable life, why she would never starve or shiver while he still breathed. He couldn't do that to his daughter; he knew it would shatter her.
Out of love, he kept her ignorant and trapped in the dark, but only until it was time. She was meant to enjoy her life, not be burdened by the struggles of her father. That wasn't her job, to worry about the worrier.

The young girl came home, still yearning to let some emotion out at the door, but ultimately failing once again. Too surrounded by conflicting thoughts, she skipped dinner and went straight to bed without changing, laying on her side across the blanket, trying to force a surge of feeling upwards.

Still nothing.

The mental exertion furthered her fatigue; all she could do now was drift off. If she couldn't make herself feel anything, she'd just let it be, recalling her late father's words of knowing when to quit.

Her first day of school was tomorrow.