"Daddy! Daddy! Look at me!" April screamed in joy as she went higher on the swing.
Frank always kept a watchful eye on his little girl, "That's great sweetie, don't go too high now."
"Okay daddy. I won't," she said as she dutifully reduced her swing.
Frank turned his attention back to the table. Woodburning had been his hobby since childhood. He remembered the first time he experienced it. His father would burn patterns on the furniture he made. It was exquisite furniture. His father was a master cabinetmaker who paid strict attention to detail. Frank knew he could never be that good a cabinetmaker. He loved the smell of burning wood though and would spend hours watching his father work the hot iron around the wood making the most astonishing designs and he learned by watching. In fact, he all but demanded his father teach him. He got pretty good at it too. The designs he could fashion from a hot iron and a block of wood always gave him a sense of accomplishment and a feeling of artistic aptitude. He hoped he could bestow such feelings and more upon his daughter.
As Frank was engrossed in his work, April came running up beside him and tugged on his shirt. "Daddy! Can I go play on the bars?" She stood while twisting her body back and forth, allowing her arms to swing along and waited patiently for a reply.
He bent over and lightly tapped the tip of her nose in a playful manner. "All right, my lovely little one. Just be careful. Okay?" he said as he looked her in the eyes.
"Okay, daddy," she smiled bright then darted from the table and rushed toward the bars.
An hour later Frank decided it was time to head home so he called April over. She skipped to the table looking a little tired from play but in good spirits. "You hungry Miss Lovely?" he asked.
She stood nodding her head animated. "Yep," she chirped.
Frank loaded the car and got April all snugged away in her seat and headed for home as mother was sure to have dinner waiting.
He pulled from the parking lot and drove the route home as he had many times in the past. Knowing all the stops and wait times he was able to pay more attention to April. Looking her way he noticed she was otherwise pacified with her game on his phone so he did not want to disturb her. This allowed for a little time to think about any thoughts that needed attending.
Busily formulating his mind with a fair amount of attention, he soon became immersed and somewhat distracted. His attention was divided between proper driving calculation and formulation of thought. He stopped briefly at a stop sign and continued through. He had looked both ways before proceeding but, as his thoughts were elsewhere, he looked directly at an oncoming vehicle yet it did not register. A quick look to his right was all the time he had before the vehicle was upon them.
In a split-second he saw the massive grille of the pickup before it charged into the side of his sedan. He watched in horrific slow motion the collapse of the passenger door and his little, precious girl pushed like a rag doll farther into the vehicle. He tried to reach out to offer comfort—any comfort as there was nothing he could do against the interminable force of a six thousand pound battering ram. His reach was not necessary as April was pushed quickly toward and against him. He could feel her small body as it slammed against his. Her flesh torn from shattered glass and shredded metal. The right half of her face ripped from her skull as it hung loose about her neck. All in what seemed an eternity, a horror show that did not end—all within a few seconds.
Frank awoke with his wife, Carrie, by his bedside, sobbing. She looked years older, distraught and fatigued beyond what he had ever seen. He attempted to speak but was hindered by a feeding tube down his throat. His wife looked up and noticed he was conscious. Holding back her tears she grasped his hand lightly and did her best to smile as she gazed into his eyes with her tired and swollen eyes.
All he could think about was April. Where is she? he thought. "April," he said with much pain and effort around the intrusive plastic tube. His wife broke down in uncontrollable tears as she buried her face in his blanket to muffle the sobs.
Flashes of the horrific accident seized his thoughts. He remembered April's little body violently shoved into his and blood pouring amidst the din of bursting glass and splitting, screeching metal. He knew his daughter was dead. The overwhelm of emotions along with the severe injuries caused him to pass out.
Days passed and Frank was able to remain conscious and sit up to eat solid food. Carrie was there at his bedside all the while, sleeping and eating with him, only leaving to relieve herself or stretch for a brief moment. She waited patiently until he was stable and able to fully comprehend what she had to tell him. With a firm grasp of his hand she lightly squeezed and lowered her head. "Frank, it's April—she's-"
"Gone," he interjected blunt and emotionless.
"No! She's here!" she said emphatic.
Frank looked her in the eyes. "She's alive? Oh my God! She's alive!" he cheered.
Carrie's expression remained somber. "Frank, she's hurt real bad. The doctors say she'll never be the same or may not recover at all. It's still too soon to tell."
"Well how bad is she? Whats wrong with her?" he asked forgetting momentarily what his mind already knew.
She was hesitant to describe the gory details of what their daughter had become. "April's body is badly mangled," she blurted with tears in her eyes. "Her face—half of her face was torn off and her cheekbone and the side of her head were smashed in," she choked then took a moment to compose herself. "The doctors will need to do reconstructive surgery on her face. Her arm was shattered and may not be able to be saved. If they can save it she may have only limited use of it. She's lost one kidney and has other internal injuries. Her hip and leg were shattered as well," she began to gasp and sob uncontrollably.
Frank sat with fear in his eyes. What had happened? What has become of his little treasure? She's gone—forever! he lamented.
One year had passed and Frank was all but rehabilitated. He was devastated April was but a twisted and deformed human and became dependent on his medication and consumed far too much alcohol for Carrie's comfort.
April had been home a few weeks after a year of grueling rehabilitation and surgeries and was able to walk with an albeit severe limp due to bone and muscle damage and the addition of a prosthetic beginning at the knee. Cosmetic surgery had yet to begin and the body was horribly disfigured and grotesque in appearance. Her spirits were up considering the tragedy befallen her. Distraught and burdened, her mother took the family's situation in stride as best she could and never once showed the toll all had taken.
Unable, or simple refusal to work, Frank spent most days in the living room with the curtains drawn as he imbibed in painkillers and alcohol, buried in the past and unwilling to see his way through to a better outlook. With each passing day he sunk deeper into depression, delusion, rage and verbal abuse toward the only one who was remotely capable—Carrie. Oftentimes he rambled nonsensical diatribes of unrelated subjects. He was never physical, never animated. Only a cold, simmering rage and detachment coupled with an ever-present delusion of life and those around him. His sanity continued its slow and steady departure.
He sat in the dim room and listened with intent to all that occurred in his home. He sat patient and waited—waited for the movement of the aberration within his home. That to which he was inextricably tied.
There it was again. The interminable click created by the prosthetic limb of the monster's feebled stride. Click—click—click. It grew closer. Intellectually he knew it was his daughter, emotionally it was the monstrosity created only to tug and torment his troubled mental faculty. A siege of rage and despair entered as he could only think of how he would accomplish the task of relieving himself from the onslaught of this horrific daily vision. Peace of mind—all he wanted was peace of mind.
April appeared from around the corner and revealed only her left side. He was relieved and comforted by her normalcy of form. Her limp was prevalent but did not bother him so. She noticed him in the chair and turned to approach. Her hideous side came to view. Uncontrollable shivers ran throughout his body as the shadows played tricks on his mind. Scars appeared deeper and her cheek sunken to allow the bone definition giving the image of a living corpse. His hands gripped the arms of the chair to brace himself as she continued toward him void of any expression of life. Her clouded, milky, dead eye fell upon him with sinister intent. Emotionless—vacant of being.
"Hi daddy," she said in her normal cheery tone. As the half-aberrant body leaned-in for a hug the eye grew closer, cursing him. She gave him a hug with both normal and atrophied, withered arm. It took all his will to contain himself from grabbing this abomination and throwing it from his vicinity. He grasped the arms of the chair harder as knuckles whitened and his face winced.
As she embraced him, he could feel the skeletal protrusions and absence of tone in her muscles of her decaying limb. As if a living corpse were showing affection. Yet her smooth, soft and vibrant cheek pressed against his alleviating some of the anguish felt from her dying half and pulling him back from the cold, dark abyss in which he was gradually descending.
She released from her hug and turned to leave him in peace. He watched as his personal horror show slowly limped from the room. His anxiety calmed as the clicks faded in the distance. He took a swig of his bourbon as he again began to listen with intent.
Day faded to night and darkness cloaked all sensibilities of reality for him. This night was not to be another venue for hauntings from the depths of Hell delivered by his personal tormentor.
This night would be different. He spent many an hour plotting the demise of the monster—the eradication of his mental pain, torture and anguish. It had to be done without question of another. A natural death; a plausible death. Tonight he would kill the monster—his monster.
Waiting hours for the right moment, like a cat he quietly entered the monster's room. Not a sound did he make as he approached its bed. The faded light gave an eerie play upon its face. It was truly grotesque. He stood before it for the longest of times. Staring—waiting for the right moment.
Thoughts were no longer congruent and facile as his mind had shattered and reality was but a fiction. Frank approached the precipice of insanity as he stood at the bedside of the monster, pillow in hand. It would be painless—quick. He knew it would only take a couple minutes after placing the pillow over the monster's face that it would soon cease to exist.
The tension he felt was growing. He began to shake with anticipation of what was to come. To be rid of the torture from within. He leaned closer as he eyed the sleeping disfigured corpse. Slowly he crept forward, not a sound did he make as he grasped the pillow tighter, pulling it taught. He was just upon it, just about to complete that which needed to be done. Then, as if on cue, it awoke! "Daddy?" it spoke pretending to be something it was not! "Did you come to tuck me in, daddy?" the monster asked sweetly pretending to be his loved one.
Like the monster, he pretended as well so as to throw the cunning demon off track. "I did," he replied sly.
April looked at the pillow. "I don't want that pillow. I like the one I've got," she said pleasant.
Frank released his tight grip upon the pillow and placed it aside to show his sincerity. But kept it close as he would need it later. "Okay, little one. I just thought you might want it," he said as he leaned-in to gently kiss her on the non-scarred portion of her forehead. Then drew-back and prepared to leave.
"Daddy, how come you don't call me lovely anymore?" she asked with sadness in her delivery.
This question caught him off-guard and appeared to have an impact. A rush of emotion and painful thought accosted his mind creating a fury within. His little girl wondered why he did not love her anymore. Without direct accusation—a subtle, simple question threw into play that which he had suppressed since before that dreadful day—that horrific accident.
He grew dizzy and faint as the blood rushed from his head. His legs collapsed and his body crashed to the floor and began to weep with uncontrollable surges of pain and grief. His mind was torn and battled the line between sanity and delusion. A rush of cogent, rational thought flooded his mind—he wept. Acts and deeds and thoughts swept through as though a whirlwind were clearing all debris leaving only a foundation of sanity. He realized all he had done and planned—he wept. He remembered April, her love, sweetness and affection—he wept. He recalled just before the accident, it was his dispersal of attention that put them in harm's way. It was he who was responsible for the fate of his beautiful daughter. In a finality of realization it was not his daughter who was the monster—HE WAS THE MONSTER!
April crawled in an awkward fashion from her bed and pulled herself to her father. She reached around and hugged him as tight as she was physically able. "It's okay, daddy. You don't have to call me that, it's okay," she comforted.
Frank's weeping turned to a blubber as all that had consumed him was being purged. He turned and grabbed his daughter and held her tight, but not so tight as to hurt her fragile body. Then began to gently stroke her hair. Her scarred cheek was against his—he no longer was bothered by her physical condition. It was only superficial as far as he was concerned. They sat as he slowly rocked all the while stroking her hair and humming nursery rhymes.
He knew it would be all right now as he did not have his daughter back but his daughter now had him back and he would do whatever he could to give her the best life he could.
The End
art source: pic
