Grief

Author's note: Not yet edited.

There are so many feelings inside me that it would be impossible to name exactly what I'm feeling, but if you asked me to sum it all up I'd say that the closest thing to the top of my emotions list would be grief; plain and simply grief. Had you asked me a few weeks ago my response would be entirely and completely different. I'd of picked ecstatic: a feeling of overwhelming happiness. Though I guess it's true what they say, that a feeling of being on top of the world has to eventually come toppling down. It might burry you, suffocate you or trap you underneath, even the strongest don't always survive. "Always be prepared." I remember my father always telling me that and I tried to be prepared, really I did. It's hard though, I mean how can you possible prepare for something like this, something so horrifyingly awful that you couldn't even imagine it, how can you prepare for something that even with the most disturbing imagination it's hard to picture?

Well daddy I'm sorry I disappointed you. I'll never possibly be able to extract the painful events from my memory, nor will I try. I don't deserve to anyway, I deserve to live a pained live for I couldn't save someone who had been saving me all my live.

I love you daddy, either though I'd understand if from heaven you're arranging with the big guy up there to send me down there, to the burning pits of hell. I wouldn't hold it against you; as a matter of fact I'd go willingly for I don't deserve a place up there, not after what I did.

I'll always love you daddy.

---

3 weeks ago...

"Daddy!" I screamed enthusiastically, jumping out of my pink satin bed and quickly shoving my feet into my leopard print slippers. Grabbing my neon orange robe off my door handle and with an enthusiastic speed put it on and dashed down stairs with an Olympic speed.

Swerving to a stop by the kitchen counter and throwing myself at the handsome man in front of me, I gave him the world's biggest hug. All of which he returned with the same intensity. After what seemed like hours we pulled away and I stared into my father's big brown doe eyes and watched the crinkled appear on his usual wrinkle-free face as he gave me a 100 kilowatt smile, which was only reserved for me. The princess to his palace, the sun to his sky, I truly was the light of his world and he was mine.

"Happy 17th birthday Liberty!" My father bellowed in his usual deep voice that I adored. I smiled affectionately at him and took my usual seat on the black bar stool.

I smiled when he placed blue berry pancakes in front of me and a blueberry muffin: my favourite. I loved my birthday; it was my favourite time of the year. That's not because I'm a particularly shallow person or I love the presents (I mean I do, but that's not the point), it's just that on the 7th December every year (my birthday) my dad took a day off. That meant a daddy-daughter day and no school for me, no business for him. My dad is a famous actor and he stared in all the blockbuster films, but I didn't care about the fame. Of course the money was a mature turn on and all, but sometimes I wished we were a normal family just so I didn't have to share my dad with the world. That may sound selfish but at the end of the day I'm still a daughter who needs more time with her dad, but today I'd get what I wanted. It would just be me and my dad, my dad and me.

"So what's the plan?" I asked after I finished eating, setting down my knife and fork. My dad studied me for a second, probably pondering if to tell me or not. He must have come to a decision because he smiled at me making me suspicious and he walked out of the room.

I put my dish into the sink and contemplated washing it or leaving it for the staff to handle tomorrow. That was also one of my birthday rules, no staff. Besides, I liked my dad's cooking and barely ever experienced it for he is always working and the staffs never able to catch the love that my dad seems to put into everything.