Lost and Found
Get out. Get the hell out of my house! She shoves me hard outside onto the pavement beneath me and where the neighbours have now gathered. I never want to see your face here ever again. Tears start to spring up around my eyes, I look down and begin to walk away, that is until she blocks me from even making a step. Opening her gigantic mouth, she starts screaming at me again. You are not my daughter, you never will be. You are nothing. Nothing. She gives me one last push, eyeing me up, opens her foul and ugly mouth, to laugh before walking back inside our house. Her house now. I hastily grab the last of my belongings, which I quickly packed and ran. As far away from here as possible.
I woke up, panting heavily, cold to the bone, with my throat burning dry and my heart beating so fast like it is constantly being hit by a drum. Why? Why must I have the same dream every single night? It’s been 15 years for goodness sake. Rolling over,I tumble out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom, my mind still a bit blurry. I’m gonna need a cold shower. A quick one.
Stepping out into the cold winter breeze, I get smacked in the face by mother nature. Pulling my navy scarf closer to my long neck, adjusting my frilly black gloves and tightening the last strap on my knee-length White Mountain boots. I zip up my tasmanian overcoat before descending in the rainy road that lays before me. Lightning flashes across the horizon as if splitting the sky wide open and rain hammers down to earth in the size of olive pits. Looks like it’s one those days. Great sheets of water pour out of the dark skies, trickling into my eyes mixing with my salty tears. Crap, my overcoat isn’t waterproof. Great, just great. My face is drenched with raindrops and I can no longer differentiate my tears from rain, blurring my view but I continue to walk. Somehow, the pelting of the rain seems to be too loud and painful for my liking, stinging onto my body repeatedly like a needle poking through my fair skin, the howling of the wind is too strong and cold, as I wrap my frail arms around my body, shielding me from getting hurt. Too late.
Passing the shops lined along the busy street, I notice my curly brown hair, completely wet and sticking to my head as if a group of birds had came and and inhabited my head. My almond-shaped face, pale, wild and my lips slightly trembling at the harsh weather. I am officially having the worse day. Ever. Trying to make amends with my hair, I finger brushed it which makes it look even worse, so I stopped. I enter the local park, and made my way to my favourite bench, but as I am cutting across the field, dodging the squealing little kids and absolutely isolating myself from any human contact as possible, I notice the rusty old sculpture, with it’s eccentric yet weird, but nevertheless creative use of materials and how the medium spells out the main concept of it. But that’s not what caught my eye, here I am standing in the middle of the rain, in a kids park, full on staring at the most touching image I have ever witnessed in my whole entire life. No way. I move closer to the subject, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Can’t be. Can it? Right before my eyes, I see the one thing, I never imagined of ever seeing again. Oh My God. I snap my eyes shut. This is not happening to me. God, no. Anything but this. I swear someone has it out for me. I stop in front of my usual bench, she continues to cry. I feel a pang in my chest, water starting to build up. Don’t you dare cry. You have seen plenty of young girls cry, so what makes this any different. True, I guess. But it still doesn’t feel any less better if I just walked away. I kneel in front of the young girl, “Are you okay?”, I try and hide the sadness in my voice. The little brunette looks up, tears trembling down her face, “My mummy is having another baby, and I’m afraid she is going to forget me”. I looked into her eyes and said, “Sweetie, I’ll be your mother”.
