Atticus walked the hallway, looking into little May’s bedroom door.
Her clumsily fingers fiddled with markers as she drew on her youthful face, red circles on her cheeks and blue eye messily dotted on her eyes. He felt weak as he entered her room sitting on the floor as he watched her pile the colors on her face.
“May, what are you doing?” He asked.
She turned, her face changed before him.
It was more worn than it used to be.
“I’m making myself perfect”
Her words were so innocent and Atticus swallowed the pain.
“Who told you, that you weren’t?”
“Daddy” She responded, still looking in the mirror as she drew black lines on her eyes.
He gripped the markers, all of them even the one in her hand and threw them across the room, the hit the wall flecking it with an array of colorful dots.
He scooped her in his arms, as she stared at him bewildered.
He washed her face on the edge of the bath, her feet not even able to reach the tiled floor. He cried, tears pouring.
He washed until the young girl’s face was raw, and rosy red.He lifted her up so she could see the mirror above the skin.
“That is perfect” He said.
She looked at him and touches his cheek, kissing it lightly before hugging him tight.
It rained harder.
YOU ARE READING
Atticus and Indi.
SpiritualIndi is an atheist, vegetarian ; who orders chocolate milk from a juice bar every Wednesday. Four minutes later, she sits in a confessional sipping her milk that has been placed into a juice cup and talks of her life. On the other side of the scree...
