I watch her sleeping soundly.
Closed eyes, smiling in unison with the corners of her mouth.
A treasure too precious for words.
Her eyelids flutter gently.
What does she dream of, I wonder?
A life to be lived.
Perfect innocence symbolised by her tiny breathing frame.
My fragile sweet girl.
I love her with every ounce of my being.
No harm will ever come to her.
I watch her sleeping soundly, through tears of joy.
I know he is watching me.
He does it often.
His love radiates.
Its waves pulsing over me.
He wonders what I dream of.
I have no need for dreams.
I act on instinct.
He’d never understand.
But he doesn’t need to.
Only be there.
And he will be, whatever I do.
My foolish, dear father.
Today was a sad day for my princess.
The cat, Tilly.
I found it dead in the garden, lying amongst the lavender.
Poor Tilly mutilated, almost beyond recognition.
I wanted to protect my angel, but she saw it.
Such a brave child.
What a thing for her to see, but she did not weep or wail.
She took my hand, squeezed it once, then went inside.
Tilly suffered something awful.
I try to block it from my mind, the dried blood and ravaged body.
Deep agonising gashes.
The flies are here to feast.
I put Tilly’s remains in a black plastic bag.
I snuck out of bed last night.
A restless crowd had gathered in my mind.
I made my way downstairs, bare footed, creeping.
Tilly meowed at me.
I picked Tilly up and took her into the kitchen, closing the door behind me.
I took out my stationary and favourite pencil.
It has pink flamingos on.
I twirled the pencil, watching the flamingos dance to my internal music, before pushing it deep into Tilly’s neck.
My fingers felt hot comforting liquid.
I silenced its mewling.
Daddy says I’m good at art.
This is my best work.
I prefer Tilly’s new look, even better if I put her with the lavender in the garden.
We go outside, Tilly and me.
The moon is full and close.
I feel so alive.
We dance in the moonlight.
The grass is damp and soft under my feet.
I smell the lavender.
Just like Mummy used to.
I place Tilly inside its new bed.
Insects move over my hand.
Elizabeth, my sweet daughter.
Graduated with ease.
How the time flies.
Is she still my little princess?
Her boyfriend, Thomas, he adores her as much as I.
He loves her deeply and I know he is a good person.
But still, she is my little princess.
Soon I will have to let her go, live her own life.
What should I do then?
What will be my purpose?
I wish her mother was still alive to see her.
Thomas is becoming a burden.
A stone around my perfect neck.
He cares for me, a lot.
I demand his attention and total adoration.
He gives it willingly.
Which infuriates me more.
Thomas had his uses without doubt.
It’s why we’ve lasted so long.
But I have exhausted the possibilities with dear Thomas.
Thomas is obsessed with me, after all this time together.
I am his world.
He is little of mine by contrast.
His love for me causes him pain.
It’s a mercy, what I’ll do to him.
I’ll bring him peace.
The crowd has been rioting within my mind again.
It gets louder around Thomas.
Time to act.
I thought Thomas was a good man.
Right for her.
Sometimes I could see his love for her might be a little overwhelming.
But he always respected her.
But now he’s gone.
Just ran away, disappeared and left for good.
His family are worried for him.
I don’t like their tone around Elizabeth.
Like she is to blame for his leaving.
He left a note, relaying only his love for Elizabeth but a state of general unhappiness with his life and career.
Elizabeth is the big success story, the earner.
I guess poor Thomas couldn’t love her quite enough to sacrifice his silly ideals of masculinity.
It is just me and the princess again.
Sweet Elizabeth, she bought a fine old house.
So big, grand.
She asked me to move in, so I did.
I couldn’t be happier.
Elizabeth and I stand in her grounds.
She points out the lavender growing.
There is so much, almost a field.
Just like home.
I’ve liked having Daddy here.
He cooks and cleans.
Asks about my day.
But just like Thomas, he can be insufferable.
I need him to understand me, truly.
If he can, if he sees what I see.
Then I’ll know.
It’s a brief experiment but one that must be done.
I hope Daddy passes the test.
For both our sakes.
I’ll need a buoy when the storms come.
The day is hot, bright.
A day so divine, that it stays in the senses and memory long after it’s passed.
We walk hand in hand through the gardens.
Elizabeth wants me to see the lavender in all its glory.
A beautiful endless haze.
My little princess is so proud of her work.
All the money she makes, her incredible frantic life that remains a mystery to me.
But it is always here she is happiest.
I swear, late at night, I can hear her laughing and whispering in the gardens somewhere.
Her gentle voice echoing around the estate.
I smile as she hugs me close.
We are amidst the lavender.
A day so divine.
We reach the middle.
There is another aroma here.
Elizabeth crouches down to the soil, smiles and whispers something.
There is a shovel in my hand.
She motions to where she is kneeling.
I hope he likes what he sees.
My great works beneath the lavender.
He digs gently, slowly.
I like it.
A suitable reverence for such an occasion.
Ah, we come to it.
Thomas is staring up at me from the ground.
He is full of holes.
Things writhe within his ruined flesh.
I stop denying the smell and vomit.
It was always there, under everything.
Elizabeth laughs and steps in front of me.
She asks me if I like what she has done.
The sun is on her back.
It lights her golden hair.
God, she looks so much like her mother.
She is her mother in virtually every way.
Elizabeth turns her back to me and grabs my hands, wrapping my arms around her.
She sway’s to unheard music.
I sway with her, my throat filled with grief.
I ask him again if he’s proud of me.
I feel him nodding.
I need him to be here, for what may come.
I tell him of all the bodies growing here.
Of the little girls I’ve brought to sleep amongst the lavender.
They remind me of me, when I was little.
But they are not me and that makes me sad.
So, I bring them here, in the soil, amidst the lavender sea.
For the new life.
Daddy tells me I’m just like Mummy.
How alike we are.
I can feel his tears.
He best sto…
Too much like her mother.
My heart tightens.
I use the last of what I have.
Bringing the shovel down, hard, swift.
My little princess.
Her head broken.
She falls into the lavender.
I fall in too, just after her.
Alongside her I lay, gasping for air.
I’m going to die.
I turn to look at her.
She is sleeping soundly.
Her closed eyes, smiling in unison with the corners of her mouth.
A treasure too precious for words.