I cooked ham and sausages and whatever was in the fridge. We drank beer and scotch, even though neither me nor mother were allowed to touch it. Of course, as usual, father left his food and scotch alone. The house was happy today, the moon shone right through the drawn curtains in the kitchen and illuminated our feast.
After I'd refrigerated and packed father's leftovers for tomorrow's dinner, I tucked him into bed. I couldn't help but smile at him, so frail and thin and weak, he needed someone strong to like me to care for him. I held his hands; they were cold, and they were grey.
I sat him up slowly so I could kiss him goodnight and like usual, his head swivelled almost three hundred and sixty degrees on his limp neck. "Silly daddy" I sighed, snapping his neck back in place. I closed his eyes with my ring and forefinger. "Goodnight daddy" I whispered.
As usual, he didn't say anything back.
YOU ARE READING
Gertrude's Palace
ParanormaalAs Gertrude celebrates her 14th birthday with her strange father, she reflects on her her mother's life, the reader forced to decipher the cryptic clues she leaves. A double homocide, an axe and an unbreakable mother-daughter bond in a short gothic...
