When life gives you lemons, would you make lemonade, or would you make life take them back?
Would you deal with the mess life has caused you, or would you make life clean it up them-self?
These questions are old and repetitive, being said over and over again to regenerate the free flow of optimism in the lives of those less reintegrated into society, and their instilled position of happiness.
I try to insinuate the fact to my father that he has just given me a slight heart attack, considering he's still alive without our knowledge of him ever even living after that incident.
He strolls straight from the doorway into our home calling out to mom.
"Adria! Adria, honey, I'm home!" His voice isn't stratified to become weakened and scratchy, he seems genuinely focused on my dead mother. But he doesn't know.
He runs circles around the house, alike a little child who is excited for Christmas, and can't wait for everyone to wake up.
He slows eventually, seeing my less than entertained face. My monotone expression surprises him.
"Where's your mother?" He asks in a quieted tone.
"She died." I hold in no emotion as I say this. My eyes are dry because of the amount of shock that has still effected me from the hospital. How long will this last?
I feel nothing. My mind is blank. There's nothing to think about. Not one moment in my life been happy since the kidnapping.
He sits slowly to the plush white chair before his knees
Shadow covers him as he looks to the floor, as I look forward, out of the window. The world seems to dim a black and white as my eyes wander to the floor in final defeat.
With the epic silence the scene turns to a still frame as we wonder what is to happen next.
The End.
authors note
I might make a sequel to this story, just because I feel like I should continue this plot :D
Merry Christmas guys :)
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