Short Stories

The Broken Heart's tale

            Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Fiona. She was only six years old when her mother died, and ever since then, her father has treated her like a servant. He never remarried and she was stuck with him.

            She’d made many attempts at her father’s life out of spite, but never succeeded at more than making him violently ill over the course of a few days. During which time, she was only forced to do more work than before.

            She was often times alone, while her father was too busy for her, and that only made the anger grow.

            How many times had she told herself to forgive him and that he was just lost from the loss of his wife and her mother? She’d lost track over the years.

            Fiona was fourteen now and long fallen into a pit of depression, weighed down by the anger created by her father’s overbearing work, and overall cold nature in the way he both acted, and treated her.

            She was sick of it and wanted him gone

            One day she met an old woman, who claimed to be a witch.

            Fiona told herself she was not gullible enough to believe such a lie and told the woman just that.

            The woman insisted she was indeed capable of doing anything she could think of.

            Fiona liked the sound of that much more, so she demanded proof of the power she claimed to have.

            The old woman agreed and asked her what is was she wanted. Fiona responded with the one thing she’d always asked for, to get rid of her father.

            The old woman nodded “Be careful of what you wish for, child” she croaked hoarsely, and before Fiona could respond, she turned and walked away.

            She went home later that day, still not believing the old woman had done anything at all, and calling her a hoax the whole way.

            When she got into her house, it was silent, though that wasn’t abnormal; her father was a quiet worker.

            Yet for some reason, due to her conversation with the old woman, she felt a need to go be sure.

            When she reached the study and peaked inside, it was empty. The ink holder had been knocked over and spilt across his desk and all the papers.

            She started to search the house for him but found nothing. He was really gone.

            At the though, it felt as though the overbearing nature of her father that weighted her down for so long, literally lifted, but in its place was that same familiar, and lonely darkness that overwhelmed her.

            The despair of her own loneliness intensified by another loss. This was what she wanted, yet it felt so hollow.

            A maddening sadness that proved to be too much. It wasn’t worth what she once thought it would be

            A knifes gleaming surface, the last light she’d ever see.