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by littlegypsyau 

Posted: 13 October 2003
Word Count: 2556
Summary: Written by Wendy Jones. Updated...chapters 1-7.

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chapter one

He was a father who taught her many things, to be bold, adventurous, to use her thoughts, speak her mind.

He would bring her presents, colourful vibrant costumes from along his travels, small unusual gifts that caught his eye and knew she would like. Things that showed he thought of her, as she did of him while he was away, for she was the apple of his eye, the first born, the precious little daughter that he loved so very much.

And she was proud that he was her father, the one she could call "dad", or as she would call him when she was trying to bend him around her little finger, "daddy", with a sweet voice, a cajoling voice that she knew worked more often than not. "Please daddy", "come on daddy", and they would both laugh, both knowing the game.

He would take her to the ocean, where she explored rock pools, collected pretty coloured shells, watching small scurrying crabs, darting from one drying warm pool to the next, over the salt water washed and encrusted rocks.

He watched her, knowing she would not fall, that she was quite capable, as she climbed as high as she could along the small craggy limestone walls that framed the pebbled beach and sparkling sea.

He rowed her gently upon the clear blue salt water, as she lay back feeling safe, trailing her hand behind the small row boat, keeping an eye out for the flash of silver coloured swimming fish coming to peek at her through salt water covered eyes, the rythmn of slow rowing oars causing a gentle rippling effect upon the stillness of the blue ocean water, the sound of crying seagulls, always hungry, always looking for food, floating, circling around in the blue sky above them.

As she grew older, he gave her new experiences, new tastes of life, opening the world to her eager young eyes and an ever hungry mind.
at times they would go to the canal, to watch the large painted barges as they made their way slowly down the waterway, listening at the river men calling colourful greetings to each other.

They sat at a table just the two of them, sheltered under the cool shade of large green and white striped market umbrellas.
She felt so grown up as she sipped upon the cherry wine or babycham he would buy her, and they would talk, discussing endless subjects together, making her feel so very special.

She was happy, she felt safe and loved, she knew no harm would dare become her while this strong but gentle loving man was her father.

She ran a little wild, as one may naturally do when left to explore and roam free as she was, allowed to be oneself, to be a child.
some days she would literally run and run, long hair, loose, becoming tangled, as the breeze made the hair billow and fly behind her, and she would feel as though she could run forever, until finally, breathlessly, she would fling herself down atop a small rise, lying flat on her back, arms outstretched, cheeks faintly flushed, surrounded by small tufts of purple blossomed heather and thin blades of tall green grass, listening to the industrious droning buzz of fat heavy pollen laden bees
and she would daydream, dreams that lucky young girls dream, of castles and princesses, fairies and unicorns, of exotic lands far away, on these lazy hazy childhood summer days, as she watched, one hand shading her eyes from the warm yellow heat of the sun, watching as the wind amused itself, playing with the weightless shifting white clouds, forming mystical, magical, ever changing shapes.

And in this world of love and freedom, she grew brown, she grew strong, she thrived and blossomed.

And this was her life, when young, a world full of interesting exploration. Full of the beautiful childhood simple pleasures of life. A world where she knew she was special, where she could be everything and anything she ever wanted to be.

A world where she knew that life was good and kind.


The cold grey gnarled hand of fate reached for her, one seemingly ordinary day, a summers day, when the air was full of the intoxicating heady scent of freshly bloomed roses, where sunlight filtered through strong green boughed trees, casting tall dark shadows to dance upon a sun warmed bitumen road, a day full of childrens carefree laughter and skies of palest blue, a day where the twisted reach of fate had no sense nor right to be.

She wondered if time had stood still that day, the heavy finger on the clock of life stopping, pausing momentarily, halting between the tic and the toc, suspending lives. a pause long enough to divide one lifetime from another.

The world seemed to change then in whispers, in muffled cries, broken words and fractured sentences, sounds she strained to hear behind tightly closed doors, and long hospital corridoors with their clinical smelling capability.

So alone, patiently, confidently, she sat. Small lean tanned legs swinging to and fro quietly beneath the sterile waiting room chair. Making plans for times of future explorations and moments to share.

Tears and disbelief surrounded her in that waiting room of distant shared sorrows. Others with their lives on hold being released from the waiting. Told the news with a touch of sympathy, a pat of the hand, others with all hope now gone.

But she felt no real fear, she knew no real harm would befall him. She knew deep within her heart, for she was there.
She would save him.

And life was full of whispers and hope.


She had been so patient. So full of childish innocent faith, knowing he would be back, deep within her young tender heart she had know with such an absolute surety. Had she not hoped, wished and even prayed for his safe return. Had she not planned it all, imagined in her mind the way it would be.
The reuniting. Happy tears mingling. Strong arms once more enfolding, hugging, holding her safe and close, being his daughter, loving her like he had always done before. Telling her how much he had missed her, how glad he was to be home.

Finally. Finally after what seemed like an age, the moment of homecoming came. She did not notice the colour of the sky, the singing of the birds, or droning of insects, for her everything was bathed in light, for he was coming home, and that was all that mattered.

She brushed her long silken hair until it shone, one hundred strokes with the pearl backed brush he had once bought her. She put on her prettiest dress. A bright smile upon her beaming happy face.

They had warned her he would not be the same. How could anyone be the same after such an accident. Lying motionless for as long as he had. Having to re- learn all the simple things we all take for granted, how to talk, how to walk, how to wash and dress. How could any of their lives ever be the same. But she pushed aside their kind warning words, for she was no normal girl, hadn't he told her time and time again how very special she was.

She would make everything right again.

He walked unsteadily, like a man who had drunk to much. Like a new born colt trying to find his legs for the very first time. No grace, no style, no cordination. Teetering here and there, occasionaly losing balance all together, but she didn't care about that, she had her daddy home again. She would help him learn whatever he had to learn, but, there was no welcoming hug, only eyes that stared blankly. And it was his eyes that worried her. Those dark black never ending pools that seemed to have no reflection. Had they always been that dark she wondered.

He looked at them all, as though they were strangers, and that was what they were to him, for he had no memory, no fond recollections, no remembrance of all they had shared, he had no past. No family.

But worse, he knew no patience or love.

He became like an overized, overgrown child, throwing tantrums. He began using his untested, unknown to him strength, that grew everyday, against them. His fits were rage filled, rage against the circumstances of this new life. Rage against a world that was so fighteningly unknown to him. Rage against a family he did not remember. He became a bully. A man to be feared and sidestepped.

That was when she knew, when reality hit home, when, finally, she admitted to herself that her daddy was gone, had left her. Left her all alone. He had passed away quietly, in his vulneralbility of coma induced stillness, this stanger had taken his place. Stolen the man she had loved and shared so very much with. Taken him away. Gone was her daddy forever, and in his place was he.

And life was filled with sadness and despair.


She had known early in life, that true power lay hidden in the alchemy of words, the way they were weaved and spun, creating glittering webs of fantasy and childhood dreamings.

Naively she had thought she had understood their magic.
In that life a long time ago.

Now words held different meanings, had changed.
Their sweetness and magic abandoning her. Now they were barbed and cruel. used as weapons, thrown randomnly with the piercings of a sharp knife. Hastily, viciously despatched, meant to wound and maim. Not only physically, but where they hurt the most, the soul, the very core of being.

The once light, happy welcoming home, now a dark place of brooding tempers and snarling words, a grey house, whose only moment of colour came in explosive bursts of deep carrot orange and sickening pea-green, as dinners were thrown in mindless rage against the canvas of a previously cleaned wall. Slowing. Dripping. Colours melting and melding into congealing pools of anger unharnessed.

Fear was constant in the air. Pessing down upon her, its weight trying to bury, smother, suffocate her, like a thick heavy woollen blanket

She learned to move in silence, to step with increasing lightness, walking upon tiptoes through the egg shells of emotions not to be unleashed. She tried hard to be barely seen and even less hopefuly unheard.

More and more she escaped, into the seemingly safe island that was the isolation of her room, where she would sit in silence with the war raging outside, trying to recapture some of the lost magic of words, reading stories, devouring book after book, eager to escape into another world, any world. Where good always managed to triumph, where stories all had happy endings.

Lost, buried deeper and deeper with each passing day was the young girl who had laughed and acted with such joyful abandon. Now she learned to hide, to live inside herself.

She began to write poetry, dark brooding pieces that spoke of lost hope and death.

And life was empty and cold.


She had thought life, in the past, like a well written fairy tale, then, full of beauty, prose and kaleidescope bubbles of irridescent happiness,
she had come to discover that was to the unknowing, unwary eye. It was a trick, a clever illusion, a cruel taunting, teasing you when parched with the rich taste of nectar, that could be the sweetness of life.

Life was cruel and unjust.

chapter six

Just when she had given up, on all the goodness of life, when she had decided to accept unhappiness and fear as her destiny, just when she knew there were no such thing as real life heroes, that they were only tales in once well read books, one entered her life.

Coming to her rescue.

No knight in shining armor, sitting astride a strong white galloping stallion, but a gentle, quiet young man, who came driving along in a shiny many horse powered car.

He drove into her life, bringing a breath of fresh air, bringing hope and love once more to the bleekness that had been her life for so long.

She did not understand how he could love her. For surely she was unworthy of being loved anymore, she felt there was nothing left of herself, but he saw within her the young girl that she had once been, and could be again, under his caring nurturing hand, the woman she was to be, the woman he would help bring to fruitition.

They came to know and learn one another, she told him tales no one else had been trusted to share, opening, accepting and loving each other, they began to write their own story, their own fresh future.

Together they rode off into the golden amber sunset to start a bright new life, tending to each others needs.
She bore his children.
Trusting in life once more, finding and feeling a happiness that had been taken from her so long ago before. Once more she trusted in the universe, in the path of life and for the first time in what seemed like centuries, she was truly happy, leaving her memories of past well behind.

Years passed by, so filled with happiness and love, together they grew.

And life was sweet and their children even sweeter.


One day, fear began to cloud her mind, she found she began to worry about losing it all, for didn't she of all people know how fragile and changeable life was.

Late at night she would enter silently into the rooms of her children. Stroking tenderly their blonde sleeping heads with such love and affection, marvelling how together they had made these most beautiful of beings.

Strange things began to happen. She would find herself remembering moments of her past, moments she thought she had forgotten, and sorrow would fall upon her. She would weep silently, for that which she had missed.

She would tell her own children, often, how lucky they were, to appreciate their lives, she taught them that others were not so lucky, never telling them the fear or life that had once been hers, for she did not want to burden them, as the memories now began to burden her.

She felt herself slowly changing, giving in to bouts of sadness that somedays left her sobbing uncontrollably.

She felt that something was dying within, something that may never be replaced, or repaired. A numb spot that was spreading, little by little, more every day.

She could not tell her loving husband, for he was not the cause of her sadness, she owed it to him to be happy.

She acted carefree when among others, laughing, smiling. People oftened mentioned how happy she was.
But that was outward, a facade. Inwardly, there was a deep deep sadness, a sadness that she felt must be kept buried, brought out only at those moments when she was alone, when it would no longer be contained. Those moments when soul and heart must allow the rawness of their pain to well over.

And life was full of haunting memories.

.......to be continued......

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Comments by other Members

old friend at 10:47 on 14 October 2003  Report this post
Hi Wendy,

Am I the first to comment? Wow!

You have a highly creative touch and an original way of writing. I could not 'grasp' the reasons behind your beginning many paragraphs without a capital and many with? Perhaps you were aiming to create a more dramatic effect but, for me, this got in the way.

May I suggest that you read your work very carefully. It has a number of typos and errors.'drank' - 'drunk','woolen' -'woollen' (Eng).

Overall it is a fine piece. Well written. Well done!


old friend, Len

littlegypsyau at 12:24 on 14 October 2003  Report this post
thank you very much for your comments Len..i think you may be the only one to read it...:)

also...i am afraid spelling and punctuation is not my forte lol...

thanks again..best wishes for creativity..


littlegypsyau at 12:53 on 14 October 2003  Report this post
Okay Len..i think i have repaired the punctuation and spelling..i hope lol...thanks...

old friend at 16:14 on 28 October 2003  Report this post
Hi Wendy,

You still need to use a fine-toothed comb when you edit your work. Even the most experienced of writers make silly mistakes but not often.

If you could train yourself to become your most avid 'sub-editor' (that's the person on a magazine who would normally have to correct other people's work) then you will look back in years to come and regard this skill as a Godsend.

You still have quite a few errors... sorry to nag but if you are to develop into a good writer than you must control words, not let them tumble out to a pattern of their choosing. So, if in doubt, look in the dictionary.
Grammar skills will develop as will punctuation; read as much as possible but above all read your work time and again. It will pay dividends in the end for you have something that cannot be learned, as I said before, a good creative mind. Keep at it!

littlegypsyau at 16:19 on 28 October 2003  Report this post
Thank you Len much appreciated. :)

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