14 years later...
My own face was the last face Hugo D’ Ambrosio saw, and I regretted everything I did to him. Staring at the ornate fireplace containing the incessant fire, I imagined the harrowing expression worn on Hugo’s face, unable to endure the excruciating heat of the flames. His hazel eyes gleamed a fiery orange, and his piercing screams rivaled even a screeching cat. I was suppressed to watch my closest friend, who was a brother, or lover, of father, I never had, burn in the conflagrating disaster of his life. With every crackle of the fire, the image of Hugo’s plump Italian face, unruly beard, and his crooked smile was engraved deeper into my mind, yet faded with every silence. With every wisp of pine-scented smoke I smelled, I ostensibly conjured the smell of scorching human flesh. The unforgettable, horrid memories caused a knife to be stabbed into my heart, over and over again, the wound never healing. I took one last glimpse of the slowly dying fire that compared to my heart’s. Hugo’s face, Joseph and Marie, my whole life, appeared in front of me, and I drifted into eternal sleep.
~~~~~
“Father Cuoco, wake up! Please!”
I rushed into the private quarters of the Father, where I heard a prominent thud from the hall only a few moments ago. His eyes were wide open, yet he didn’t see me hovering over him. Drops of tears gently streamed down my face. I tried to hide them from Father Dante, from God, but it was an inevitable task. I didn’t want to leave his side, but knowing what Father Dante would do, I said a prayer to the dead father, wiped my now overflowing tears, and walked past the scarlet pool of blood gradually seeping out his cracked skull.
One year later…
The blood stain would never come off the floor. I cried every time I scrubbed the floors of Father Cuoco’s chamber. His scent was always lingering in the furniture, and his dead expression was branded into my brain. His eyes were reminiscent to the Aegean Sea, and his hair was the color of its golden sand. His voice was always faintly ringing in my ears, his tone consistently serious at the right moments. It was as if his soul had merged with my subconsciousness. I would forevermore want to be at his side. But even if he was still alive, he would never notice a lowly servant girl. I couldn’t move on. I tightly gripped the blade in my hand, taking one last look of the note I scribbled in my muddled handwriting. See you in heaven, my love.
~~~~~
Life isn’t as lovely as it may seem. People around you will always drape a veil over your eyes, hiding reality from you. I am tired of being the victim for fourteen long years, and I cannot take it anymore. I have decided to break myself free from the chains of others that tie me down to Earth, and stand by the side of God, and serve him for eternity. I pray for the best for Mama, and I am sorry for leaving without a daughter to love. I am sorry for taking my own life away, and I hope Mama and Joseph have prosperous lives. I will meet you in Heaven with Papa and Dante someday. I love you.
-Milana D’Ambrosio
Daughter of Hugo and Marie D’Ambrosio
