Pasticcio

My Beloved Father #HappyDeathDay !

Today is the day.

Rosario stood by the kitchen table, her big, brown eyes glued to the calendar that hung on the wall. In her hands was a permanent marker, a red one, to be exact. It was as red as the full lips that lined her effervescent smile, as red as her long, manicured nails, and as red as the sundress she had chosen to wear that day. It was her favourite. She only ever wore it on special occasions, and this was most certainly one of them.

Her fingers shook with anticipation as she lifted the marker in the air, but then, in one swift movement, she circled the current date: October 31st, the Day of the Dead. Rosario stared at it until her vision blurred and her smile dropped into a scowl, but she recomposed herself almost immediately. There was no time to waste in tomfoolery—she had to make sure that everything was in place by sundown before her guests came.

It was already noon, and there were so many things she still had to buy. The candy, the ingredients for her signature peanut-butter-and-banana muffins, the decorations...the more she thought about it, the wider the grin on her face became. She had waited forever for this day to come, and couldn't contain the excitement for the life of her! After clapping her hands together, she swivelled on her heel and pranced out of the kitchen, as happy as a lark.

-:-

Rosario pushed open the door to her bedroom with a foot and sauntered through, her arms cradling two baskets filled with scented candles, flowers, and even fruit. Everything in the tiny living room was ready—Rosario had pushed the table towards the centre, and stacked the plastic chairs to one side so she could decorate the area with fairy lights, orange and black streamers, and balloons.The table itself was loaded with all types of sweet and savoury foods; the mere sight of them would make anyone's mouth water.

She placed the baskets on her rickety bed, and after closing the door, trudged over to the window to pull the curtains shut. The room became shrouded in pitch-black darkness, but not for long—a strike of a match, and a tiny orange flame became the new light source.

Rosario hurried over to her bed and picked up a single candle. After bringing it up to her nose and inhaling the sickly-sweet scent of lavender, she lit it. The glow, this time, was much brighter, and now illuminated the entirety of her room, including the altar that stood against the far wall. Rosario made her way towards it, her steps slow but solemn. Right in the middle, perched on the edge of a richly ornamented bench, was the man to which the altar was dedicated; her beloved padre. Despite being surrounded by everything from wilted flowers to rotting food, his image was imposing enough to overpower the smell of death, and make the girl kneel before him.

Her padre had meant everything to her. After the death of his wife, the man had migrated from Mexico to America with his four children, in search for a better life and to fulfil the American Dream. It wasn't easy at first, the struggles were aplenty, but at least he had secured a job as a construction worker, and brought in an income. Rosario—being the only female—at the tender age of twelve had taken the place of her mother, as well as the second provider for the family.

The years went by. Her siblings got an education and were granted a proper childhood, whilst Rosario continued being the same thing, all throughout puberty and into adulthood. She never complained. Not even when her adored padre would return late at night, drunken beyond reason, to have his way with her. Rosario wouldn't make so much of a peep when he touched her in those forbidden places, and whisper sweet nothings in her ear with an alcohol-laced breath. Te amo, he would say when he was done, once he was satisfied, and add, as an after-thought, mi hija, my daughter.

Rosario crossed herself and mumbled a prayer honouring the dead, finishing up just as the doorbell rang. Her first guest had arrived—she could hear her silvery voice calling out Rosario's name. She crossed herself once more before inclining her head and standing up, her joints crackling back into place.

She snuffed out the candle and made her way out of the room, a sombre smile crawling onto her face at the surfacing of the fond memory.

Te amo, she had whispered back, ten years ago, today.

Right as she ran a knife across his jugular.

A/N

Word count: 796

Happy #DeathDay ParanormalCommunity ! I was tagged by @SkarlitDawn to do this, so I'd like to dedicate this gift to both of you.

I'm tagging:

@OmaimaAkbar

@Ice-rocks0990

@Everleigh_

@AmazingFan101

@DarkWolf13

@-anomalyst

@ShawD_Pen

@Ultivert

@alyisdabest

@clinquant