Blue Sunflowers [discontinued]

01

O N E :     d e a r   m o t h e r

      A small word can make ones heart flutter. . . A small word can make ones soul shatter. As for her, she already heard the word that made her heart beat erratically, but she worries for the day that that one single word that will shatter her soul will finally arrive. . .

      They met at park, with her dark hair and freckles scattered across her cheeks like stars that never will gleam.

      Like the dull stars that never shined once more, her life was just as sullied, torn clothing. Her blonde hair was a mess, tangled with various leaves, twigs and dust. She could feel her ribs against her skin, her collarbones more prominent due to starvation. Her tattered rag-like garments were caked in mud, dust and blood. Her nails were unevenly trimmed, with dirt stuck under them.

      She smiled sheepishly unto the freckled girl in front of her, her teeth were perfectly aligned, despite how untidy she looked. Her bright sky blue eyes reflecting her image greatly.

      Historia was at her home months ago, standing on a chair as she tried to make stew for her mother, who effortlessly paid no attention to her, not even caring if she burnt herself. Alma sat on her couch, reading a book that had a blue, hardbound cover.

      The blonde sprinkled a bit too much of salt on her dish, then stirred rashly, making it splash across the stove. She hummed happily without noticing it, and dunked half of the pepper inside the shaker, small particles of black pepper scattered on the stew,  and she dunked the wooden spoon into the mush, stirring once again.

      Mom likes it spicy!  She thought, and dunked all of the contents instead. She pinched her nose to prevent herself from sneezing, as she bit her lip in anticipation, but fortunately, no sneeze came from her.

      The morn light was ever lustrous and ever blinding as it passed through the flimsy, flowery curtains that veiled the window, and reached her blonde lashes, looking somehow alike to the color of quartz as it caught sunbeams. Her rosy, thin lips were a bit chapped, her pupils dilating in bliss. The sunshine gently highlighted her angelic profile, giving suffice warmth upon her cheeks.

      "Mama!" She called for her dearest mother, the joy in her eyes still present. "I'm almost done in a minute."

      No response. Alma just averted her gaze from her book to see her, and then focused once again on her tale.

      "It's okay, Mama!" She called back again, "I will be a good girl so that you will love me. . . Just as that lady in school told me."

      She then scooped the stew hastily and divided it equally on two bowls, some drops falling sloppily. Historia sighed as she wiped it with her finger and licked it, savoring it. . .

      She decided it tasted good.

      Historia then started to set the table, placing spoons and forks, and the hot bowls of stew upon the wooden table. She then skipped happily towards her mother, and took her soft, and not calloused hands, unlike her persona. Alma just allowed her child to drag her, eyes still on her book.

      She lead her mother to the kitchen, and let her sit. Alma was always awaiting to be served, to the point of crushing her daughter's feelings. Historia folded her hands together and suggested, "You should mutter the prayers now, Mama. My turn was yesterday."

      Her mother's eyes held no warmth, but she loved it. Alma's lips barely moved as she pronounced hurtful words. "I pray that your food was poisoned so you will finally disappear."