A man sits at his desk crying with a picture of his daughter tightly grasped in his hand, the picture being held to his forehead, the man looks up swiftly in a powerful emotion of hurt and despair, as he swiftly throws it across the room in an anger so cruel, yet full of sorrow.
"GRAAAHHH" growling in frustration the man stands up from his chair left to swivel in a circle. The man walks up to his office window with a view so serene yet the calming landscape of trees and coffee shops only weakened his already dissipating strength. The serenity did nothing to calm the raging turmoil in his heart.
"there is no more chances." he whispers to himself. An agony so obvious and thick in his voice, sobbing, the man lowers his head onto the window as he slides to the office floor.
"its over" he whispers "shes gone."
in like a rush of memories the office man look up from his broken state, he looks out the window and watches as his memories unfold.
You could hear the sound of a child crying. The kind of crying of heart wrenching sorrow that would make a mother wail in pain at the very thought of this sound. It was not a normal childs cry. It wasn't the kind of crying that children make when they want attention or have accidently scraped their knee, wounding themselves out of curiostity. It was the kind of crying a child would cry when they knew in their heart there was nothing else to say. A broken sound that you would hear from tourtured teenagers trying to muster up courage to jump or pull the trigger, ending their life. A child no more than six was harboring thse sobbs deep in her chest until one day they escaped, like the snow traped in an awkward position on a mountain untill the lightest movement or sound triggers a roaring catastrophe of broken sympathy.
And she continued to cry.
She would sit down in front of her bedroom door, painted pink with a black doorknob that locked from the outside. It was a simple room, big enough to hold a cherry princess bed and a regular desk, the closset oposite of the bed with sliding wooden doors. To most people its like any other sterotypical girls room, with barbies and stuffed animals, cutsie clothes and pink, diffrent shades of the same colors. But if you looked closely you could see the window was bolted shut. None of the toys had finger prints on them. If you were to pick them up you would have a clean underneath were dust didnt collect. most people didnt notice it. no one but the girl who layed crumpled at the door with sobbs so sad.
"shes been crying like that all fucking morning" a mans voice could be heard from outside the stairs.
"i know but let her alone. bitch will stop crying eventually."
"betta' "
The voices, one woman and one man. The womans voice was a beautiful voice, like in those action movies, not yet 30 with a undertone of sexy and a hint of "im a fucking phycopath if you piss me off" while the males voice was a grunting old voice that had the same consistancy of oil on the skin to someone elses ears.
"my name is not bitch," the small girl weeped.
"it is saeva consilia, why cant they call me saeva?! why cant they say me name? sic ut ne quid mali me ad me,(what is so wrong with me that they refuse to say my name)?"
she continued to weep, but it had become silent downstairs were the two adults saeva was forces to call parents dwelled.
then foot steps. stoping of a heavy force coming up the stairs very, very angrily.
"Deus in adjutorium meum"she whispered"god help me."
her door busted open that he was jolted from the floor to the wall on her left.
it was her father.
"who the FUCK said you could speak in that devils tounge in this house?!"
"its not devils tounge its my first language papa!"
"phaa! devils lick!, devils works, YOU ARE A CHILD OF SATAN. DECEIVED BY HIS TEMPATIONS. I. WILL. NOT. HAVE. HIM. IN. MY. HOUSE!"
he raised his hand and slapped saeva accross the cheek with such force it busted her lip.
she collapsed to the floor, in pain she mumbled somthing in her diffrent tounge.
"what was that?" papa asked, with fury being fueled in his voice.
"nothing" she whispered weakly.
"WHAT DID YOU FUCKING SAY?!"
"ODI!" Saeva screamed at her father.
another blow landed on her face, and then another on her sholder, then her stomach, they continued throughout the hour. slaps, punches, strangulation, till the child blacked out.
papa stoped and realised what had happened. he started to cry. "please forgive me, but you rname is is not Saeva, it is Cor, and this DEAMON, who resides in you changed you name. " he picked her up and gently placed her in bed.
"i will get that creature OUT, and my Cor, my beautiful Cor, but he happy again" papa looked at his daughter longingly. with fear in his heart andsadness at his throat he turned around and begun to cry. he sat on her bed, and cried and cried and cried. then he left.
"saevum id consilium uero est cor" saeva whispered.
in a heart broken silence she whispers
"save us god"
and in that plea for help
she cries angry tears.
in cor contritum,
susurrans cum silentio
"Salva nos Deus",
inquit, et in hoc clamo-rem
iratus lacrimis.
as papa shuffled out of the room he collapse outside in the hallway. his sobbing loud and full of fury.
he didnt know what happened to his daughter, or how she came to know the dead language, no one knew. no doctors or therapists, priest's or anyone else.
YOU ARE READING
Saeva, deam veteres. "The Goddess Of Old"
Short Storya child born of the old religion. Saeva Consilia, has to live her life in an abusive house hold. her father believe Saeva is possessed by a demon of the old religion and the only way to free her is to cleanse her corrupted soul by brutally starving...
