(no subject)
four people approached the baseball field; the dry dust stirred around their legs. two were men, dressed in business suits. one was a woman, dressed in a business skirt and matching blazer. the fourth was a little girl, no more than eight, wearing a yellow summer dress.
they reached the cage just behind home plate, the chain link wall soaring above their heads into the sky. the little girl entwined her fingers and pressed her face into the chain link.
draped over home plate was a body, a woman in a white night gown. trails of dripped blood rolled across her exposed skin.
"see," the woman in the business skirt said, "that's what happens when you abandon people."
the three adults walked away, leaving the child to hang on the fence. she reached forward, her little arm fitting up to the shoulder inside a link.
"mother..."
so, this is a dream that wasn't a dream. i wasn't asleep, my mind just made this, sort of like a trailer for the night.
it can probably be said that this is an indication of my mother issues, of how i blame myself for her death.
but i think it's more than that.
because as i watched that little girl reaching for her mother, all i could think was, "how could those adults be so cruel? she's only eight years old, if not younger. she isn't ready for that responsibility. she isn't ready for that guilt."
so it goes.
they reached the cage just behind home plate, the chain link wall soaring above their heads into the sky. the little girl entwined her fingers and pressed her face into the chain link.
draped over home plate was a body, a woman in a white night gown. trails of dripped blood rolled across her exposed skin.
"see," the woman in the business skirt said, "that's what happens when you abandon people."
the three adults walked away, leaving the child to hang on the fence. she reached forward, her little arm fitting up to the shoulder inside a link.
"mother..."
so, this is a dream that wasn't a dream. i wasn't asleep, my mind just made this, sort of like a trailer for the night.
it can probably be said that this is an indication of my mother issues, of how i blame myself for her death.
but i think it's more than that.
because as i watched that little girl reaching for her mother, all i could think was, "how could those adults be so cruel? she's only eight years old, if not younger. she isn't ready for that responsibility. she isn't ready for that guilt."
so it goes.