2 Fairy Child
All her life she had spent re-constructing.
Rebuilding her homes, rebuilding her relationships and her family, rebuilding careers and direction, rebuilding her creative elements and inspiration, and working, endless work.
What was her purpose? Why was she here? as she sat in the darkness within this pumphouse prison, where man made time had no meaning, and The little Red Haired Girl, the inner child within her realised that all her life she had felt like a stranger to herself, as if looking at her life as a viewer watching a film, except the film was out of focus, she felt out of focus almost invisible, invisible to herself and to others.
She, the adult body, continued to seek a practical way out of her confinement, and there were possibly several ways that may work. She had to accept that no one was coming to her rescue, she had to rely on herself.
Using a broken piece of glass from the window, even though it was still dark, maybe she could unpick the lock housing. “At least try” she said out loud.
With numb and frozen hands, she thought she could feel four screws holding the lock in place, she checked again because their placement felt odd. “Why aren’t they in a symmetrical square shape like the the lock housing itself?” again out loud, speaking aloud seemed to comfort her in someway.
She felt again in the darkness and tried to assess their positioning, “yes definitely four” and with each one she found she tried to use her nails to find the screw slots but she could not find any that just maybe, maybe she could have inserted the piece of glass into assuming a) the glass would be strong enough to turn them and b) the glass would be thin enough to fit. It could be that the screws were old and even break, loosen or were badly fitted. “Well I have to try”. If it didn’t work what had she lost? Nothing.
In the darkness, she could feel thick, sticky blood on her hands. It was no good, the glass hadn’t worked as a screwdriver, there were definitely no slots, they were not screws. Nor had it worked as a lever, the glass would not fit underneath the heads either. She knew it had been a slim chance.
The two windows were too high to climb out of and she only knew they were there because she had felt her way along the single circular wall and at full stretch could only just feel the bottom of the frame. She tried to see them in the dark, when the occasional glimpse of moonlight allowed her to and they were also barred, and like the window on the door, metal.
She tried the door again, it would not budge.
She had tried, but she had lost. Not nothing…she lost all hope.
“Am I never going to get out of here?” she voiced and in that instance she felt the deep despair and for the first time in her life, she got down on her knees and prayed.
“Why me? Why are you doing this to me? What have I done that is so wrong? I work hard, am I not good to people?” And as she voiced it, and tears ran, she heard her Nana’s voice “Try again tomorrow, Sleep now”
The Little Red Haired Girl felt Nana’s hand on hers, the same ones that had taught her to knit even when she had a broken wrist, the same ones I watched work the pastry in the bowl, the same ones that soaked and prepped her flowers in the bath filled with cold water ready for arranging. The ones that were soft as tissue but bony with arthritis. The Little Red Haired Girl knew she was tired and her grown up self knew she was probably dehydrated and it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Nanas hand was not on hers, it wasn’t really there.
And as she settled as best she could on the cold, concrete floor, Nana’s hands stroked her hair, she swore she could feel them.
“You know you are my Fairy child”
“What do you mean Nana?” were her last words as she started to drift into sleep.
“Coz you are the only one of all my Grandchildren that has my Red hair, and its very pretty”.
The Little Red Haired Girl hadn’t thought it was pretty at all. She felt Nana kiss her forehead and fell into a deep, heavy sleep but her Heart was light, light as a feather and dancing in dreams with Fairies.
© 2024 Jennifer Harris. Free And Alive 555
