Lillith sat upon the table at the park, all her prized possessions in a single bag next to her on the table. Everything except a camera,the trench coat she was wearing, and a black butterfly knife engraved with 'Selde', the elven word for Daughter. This was her most prized possession, and her most deadly. Her mother had killed her father with this knife, the last time he had come home drunk. Lillith picked up the knife, recalling that night.
We were in the bathroom, playing with your make-up when he came home. You heard his truck and ushered me under the bathroom cabinet, telling me to keep quite, and to not come out until it got all quiet. i heard you shut and lock the bathroom door, so no one could get in, just as he slammed open the front door. I lost track of time, being in there. i heard shouting, breaking glass, and cursing. The last words i heard either of you say were him calling you a bitch, a gunshot, and then you telling me to run, and i did. i ran out of the bathroom and into the living room, it seemed like time slowed down as i ran past the scene. He had a trail of blood flowing from the left side of his chest, and you had the same blood flow from the right side of your chest. it seemed like i stood over you for what must have been half an hour before i finally grabbed your blade from your lifeless hand, and your trench coat by the door. I was 13.
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"How do you want your coffee Mr. Johnson?" I ask politely. I hate this job. Being up at the but crack of dawn to serve rude ass-holes their coffee.
"Three scoops of sugar and whipped cream on the top," the oh-so-polite Mr. Johnson barks back.
I hand him his coffee, and mutter as I turn around, "Auta miqula orqu." I smile to myself.
My watch beeps, and its the end of my shift, finally time to go home. I rush to the back of the shop and hang my apron simultaneously pulling down my trench coat on the next hook over. I slide the black material up my arms and over my shoulders as i pull out my cell phone and turn it on. I sigh, realizing that i have no messages, yet again.
I leave through the back door and begin walking down the damp sidewalk of this dumb town, headed towards the cemetery. I smile at a few mothers with their children as I walk past the park. I envy those children; they will have their mothers all their life, until their mothers die of old age at least. My mother died at the ripe old age of 33, by the hands of that bastard. I reach the cemetery and smile as I walk through the isles of death, picking only the nicest flowers off of other's tombstones. I reach your place of final rest and sit on the cross at your feet.
"Martta sina re, Ammil." I smile and lay the flowers under the cross. I walk away and repeat myself in a whisper, "it happens today mother."
