Mountain in the Clouds
Description
he young girl slips out from the comforts of her warm, little mattress to observe the harsh, flickering light dancing in from the wintry outside. On hands and knees, she crawls... unable to sleep, knowing very well the heart's restlessness on the other side. Through the thin, web-like curtain door, she peers, to witness the stark whiteness of her father's innocent hands strangling the delicate neck of his favorite remedy. A bottle of wine, aged to perfection. Without a doubt, he is drowning. With each breath he takes, he is filling his lungs with sorrow in substitution for air. With each thought he thinks, he is filling his mind with self-loathing rather than redemption. Without mother by his side, he is nothing. A hopeless cause, a ruin of man. With his clothes disheveled and long hair unkempt, he is content to waste away. All he can do these days is drink, drown, and pat her head once in a while. But... only once in a while.
She is sick. Sick of hearing him weep. Sick of watching him drink, day in and day out. Lost and utterly broken. Such a pathetic scene... it is quite sad indeed, but she will not cry for him. She will not cry for him nor herself. She will cry... for no one. The sight of tears has always been the source of mother's grief, hence she will never cry. Never. She may scream and yell, she may throw tantrums and break things, but never will she cry. Never.
And so... on hands and knees, she must wait patiently. For the ideal moment, for the ideal opportunity, to leave him. If he will not find mother, then she will. At the perfect moment, at the perfect opportunity, she will do all the things he cannot do and more. Turn ashes into gold... smile without restraint... because mother has always loved her bright smiles best.
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